


Variation

by LowerEastSide



Series: Variation and other stories [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Art, Big Bang Challenge, Comeplay, Community: harrydracobang, Denial of Feelings, Department of Mysteries, Depression, Down and Out Draco Malfoy, Enemies to Lovers, Falling In Love, Families of Choice, Fanart, Grief/Mourning, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Kissing, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Magical House, Magical Theory, Malfoy Manor, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Overstimulation, Overwrought metaphors about evolution, POV Draco Malfoy, Rimming, Romance, Rough Sex, Slow Burn, Switching, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wandlore (Harry Potter), a lot of apples, loss of magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-06-26 06:50:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 87,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15657996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LowerEastSide/pseuds/LowerEastSide
Summary: Adaptation under isolation and domestication; characteristics both immutable and variable.After suffering enormous losses, Draco Malfoy must now struggle to define his place in the post-war world. Through dashed hopes and changing fortunes, Draco carves out a new niche for himself. But adapting to life with Harry Potter may be the biggest challenge of all.





	1. Prologue: Means of Transition

**Author's Note:**

> Author Notes: Here it is, my labor of love. The H/D Big Bangs were a huge part of my early Drarry reading, and I’m so proud to be able to participate in this one. 
> 
> This is a darker story with light at the end of the tunnel. We won’t catch up with Harry for a little while but rest assured he plays a big part! The fic is in Draco’s POV, so we only get his view of things, which is sometimes limited and, forgive me, not always right. 
> 
> All chapter titles are taken from the works of Charles Darwin.
> 
> Having your work illustrated is a dream for any writer, and I am so pleased that Cryptomoon worked to bring this story to life. It was great to meet her and discover her work through this project. I write in bars, she draws in bars, perfect match! 
> 
> More acknowledgements are in the end notes.
> 
>  **Artist Notes** : It's so wonderful to be participating in Harry Draco Big Bang again after all this time. Getting back to drawing my boys was so refreshing and I really hope I can still capture them well. It has been such a wonderful experience and both LowerEastSide and the mods have been amazing and understanding during some personal struggles during the fest. I post all my art over on my [tumblr](https://cryptomoon.tumblr.com/) and [instagram](https://instagram.com/cryptomoonart/) if you'd like to see more of what I do. Enjoy this beautiful fic!   
> \- [_cryptomoon_](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptomoon)

**Part I: VARIATION UNDER DOMESTICATION**  
  
_No case is on record of a variable being ceasing to be variable under cultivation._

 *

 

_The Malfoy Heir lives in Malfoy Manor._

_This is as it has been since the Manor was constructed.  Each brick was laid down with the continuation of the line in mind. Each spell woven into the walls and windows calls out to those of Malfoy blood, whispering: this is where you belong._

_Armand Malfoy, “adviser” to William the Conqueror, set foot on the shores of Pevensey with the intention of establishing a dynasty. Anyone who has approached the high walls of his descendants’ imposing Wiltshire home would have to agree he’d succeeded._

_The current Manor is not the first magical dwelling built on this plot of land, of course, lying south of the Salisbury Plain with the power of Stonehenge and various ley lines at its back. There have been castles, moats, and fortifications preceding it. Yet it is the current Elizabethan estate, larger than all those before, that has established itself - with roots almost like a tree, unseen threads woven of wards and blood rituals that stretch down into the soil itself to meld with the land around it._

_Even when abandoned in summer for French beach houses, or holidays spent in Alpine cabins, the Manor has stood proud waiting for its masters to return. Each Malfoy raised there feels an invisible pull to this house that has existed for over four hundred years, protecting and nurturing each generation. To be removed from the wards is to feel a deep sense of loss, a homesickness that settles in the soul and can never be assuaged. The fear of such exile has kept children in line and wives faithful. Each heir is educated in the ways of the wards and taught the powerful magics that echo through the grounds and the Manor itself._

_Draco Malfoy no longer lives in Malfoy Manor._

_Draco Malfoy is no longer the Malfoy Heir._

 


	2. Extinction of Intermediate Forms

They'd been found guilty on all counts.

All counts.

_Does it really all count?_

Draco knew he'd made numerous terrible choices. Led when he should have followed, followed when he should have led. Listened to voices sharper than his, and ignored whispers that could have held his salvation.

He'd also made a few good decisions along the way. A sparse few, he had to admit, but they were important, for Merlin's sake. One word from him back in the drawing room and the war would have gone much differently. A war he hadn't truly wanted to be in - one that he'd been given a chance to leave.

But no last minute backtrack on a tower was going to save him now. Nor would a cagey answer given to his psychotic aunt, vague enough that he could plead ignorance later, but doubtful enough to save the boy he had finally realised was their only hope. He had hated Potter so much in that moment, even as he was unwilling to cause his death. Hated him for being more important than Draco had ever been, for being so pivotal a figure that Draco's own life hinged on his survival.

Because that was the most galling part of all this, wasn't it? The fact that Draco, scion of one of the most powerful Pure-blood families in Britain, the very blood that Voldemort had professed to hold above all others, was an afterthought in the aftermath of his war.

No one had told Draco anything about the charges or verdicts against his parents before his own trial commenced. He had been held in a completely different section of the Ministry's basements which were serving as a temporary prison. It wasn't until three days later that he was led upstairs and into the Wizengamot chambers.

Draco had expected an uproar in the courtroom, with vitriol and hostility thrown his way. Instead, it was so quiet that his breath sounded like a hurricane in his ears. This wasn't the full Wizengamot - in fact, he only recognised a few faces from his days chasing his father's robes at the Ministry. He listened numbly as the charges against him were read.

_Conspiracy._

_Use of an Unforgivable._

_Attempted Murder._

The barrister the Malfoy family fortune had paid for refuted the charges to the best of his ability, the bulk of his argument resting on the fact that Draco had been underage for most of his crimes. But the faces of the Wizengamot had been etched in stone, and all pleas fell on deaf ears. The gavel had fallen, and Draco was guilty.

Well. He _was_ guilty, wasn't he?

The barrister demanded an appeal, an extension. He was being compensated handsomely, after all, so he had to at least appear to put up a fight. But the gavel had fallen again.

"This is a war crimes tribunal, not a standard trial. Mr. Malfoy is here before us as a member of a terrorist group. We will not be hearing appeals."

As the Aurors came to lead Draco back to the Ministry cells, the judge who had spoken held his hand up for them to stop.

"We are overcrowded downstairs. More criminals have been captured this past week. As the elder Mr. Malfoy and his wife were also convicted on all charges, they are awaiting their sentencing hearings. Remand them all to their home under Auror supervision." The look he gave Draco was expectant, as if he thought that Draco should be grateful.

Draco wasn't grateful. It was crueler to give all three of them a taste of freedom before dragging it back from their grasp.

~~~

If life in the Manor had been nightmarish with Voldemort around, waiting for his sentencing was like being trapped in a waking dream.

Draco barely saw his father. Upon arriving home after their convictions, Lucius had shut himself up in the library almost immediately. But Narcissa had embraced her son and now seldom left his side. When he was younger, Draco would have ironically protested that he was no longer a child. Now he only wanted to take comfort in his mother's presence for as long as he could.

This afternoon found them ensconced in the blue parlour, the fire burning despite the July heat outside. The entire West Wing of the Manor had been closed off to them by the Aurors after their sweeps. An alarm ward was placed over all the bedrooms there, as well as the potions laboratory, the drawing room and now infamous cellar. The library was in the North Wing, and Draco was unsure if it had been intended to be locked away, but there were still two open entrances, from the East Wing and Great Hall. At least, thank Merlin, their own bedrooms remained accessible, as did the kitchens and the conservatory.

Narcissa was perched on the settee, her posture uncharacteristically loose, shoes kicked off and feet curled underneath. Draco sat on the floor beside her, flipping uninterestedly through a guide to breeding and racing Abraxans. His mother's fingers idly stoked his fine, blond hair.

"Your grandmother hated horses," she said. They had been quiet for nearly an hour, and the sudden sound of her voice startled Draco.

"Grandmother Druella?"

Narcissa murmured in assent. "Her father had enjoyed going to the races far more than staying home. It was a point of contention around the house."

Draco could recite his bloodline by heart, all the way back to several generations before Armand Malfoy on his father's side and nearly as far on his mother's. What he couldn't do was tell anyone what they were like. Ages of Malfoys and Blacks stretched behind him, and the only thing he knew for sure was they had resembled him and they had upheld Pure-blood ideals. There were mentions of a number of them in history books, with the requisite bits of information - Phineas Nigellus Black, Hogwarts Headmaster, or Araminta and her Muggle-hunting bill. But those were facts that were public knowledge.

Draco didn't know what his great-grandfather Rosier had enjoyed in particular. He didn't know what his grandmother Druella liked best for dinner, or if there were any special holiday traditions that she missed from her childhood in the Rosier household. Sentimental things were rarely seen as a priority in his family. He suspected that Druella would have chided her daughter for spoiling Draco when he went off to Hogwarts, had she lived that long.

As Draco thought of the packages of sweets he used to receive during breakfast at Hogwarts, his throat grew tight. Those were days long past. Now every owl that arrived seemed ominous - updates from their solicitor about possible avenues to pursue in their sentencing hearings, requests for evidence that could be turned over in a desperate bid for mercy.

They had already told the Wizengamot everything.

His mother's sudden willingness to discuss family surprised him. It was a taboo topic these days, only conjuring what-ifs and painful nostalgia. Especially today, as they waited for their solicitor to arrive for a meeting she requested. They assumed it meant she had news.

The footsteps that suddenly sounded outside the parlour were not those of their legal adviser, however. For the first time in three days, Draco caught sight of his father. Lucius slunk into the room with the hunted look of a man who knew he was on borrowed time. Narcissa straightened and withdrew her hand from Draco's hair. He immediately missed it.

Lucius eyed them both warily. "I have been reading some... fascinating books," he said to Narcissa. His voice was scratchy, unused in many days.

"As one does in the library," she replied stiffly.

"I had thought I might share a passage with you." Draco didn't hide his shock. His father had made no effort to be alone with his mother in some time.

"Perhaps later. We have a meeting to attend to."

Lucius sniffed dismissively. "What is the point? More useless attempts to garner sympathy, to beg for the mercy of the court? They've made up their minds, Narcissa. You and I will not be setting foot in this house again. No, we must take matters into our own hands."

Her hands curled into fists, but she left them at her sides. "You and I may be doomed. But there is still Draco to consider. His fate is less certain."

Lucius' mouth twitched.

"Your _son,_ Lucius?"

His eyes unfocused. "Yes, my son," he muttered, and withdrew from the parlour.

Narcissa slumped across the settee, the tension leaving her body. She appeared defeated. It unsettled Draco, who had seen her worried, even scared, but never hopeless. He reached for her, tentatively - it was always she who initiated touch between them, although he gladly welcomed it nowadays - and placed his hand on her shoulder. She reached up to lay her own atop his.

"Your father is unwell."

His father was broken and twisted. 'Unwell' was a kindness Draco did not think he deserved.

" _I_ will not abandon you," she whispered.

It was a promise he knew she could not keep.

~~~

His father did not reappear for the meeting. One of the two elves left in the Manor - once there had been five, but Aunt Bella enjoyed target practice - led their solicitor, Ms. Janney, into the parlour a half an hour later. Draco wondered if the elves would be transferred with the house or set free.

"I won't mince words," Ms. Janney said as she sat in a high-backed chair and refused the tea the elf placed in front of her. "I've been informed of your sentences, and it isn't what you've hoped for."

"But won't that be revealed at the actual hearing?" Narcissa's teacup trembled imperceptibly in her hand.

"The sentencing committee has already met. They won't be able to hold the hearings until the second week of August, because there is a week-long celebration planned for the end of July. It's mostly a propaganda holiday, aimed at presenting the Ministry as fully operational after all the restructuring." A bite in her voice told Draco exactly what Ms. Janney thought of the Ministry's propaganda. She was a no-nonsense woman: it was obvious she didn't agree with the Malfoy's beliefs, being a Half-blood herself, but she was extremely dedicated to her job and the idea that everyone should have a competent defence. She had been diligent in preparing Draco's argument for trial, and it wasn't her fault there had been no way out. Draco felt like she was working awfully hard for a lost cause. "In any case, their minds are made up, even if they are biding their time. I have a contact that gave me this information, and I trust them implicitly."

Draco remained silent on the couch beside his mother. He didn't know what kind of contact Ms. Janney could mean; none of the other Death Eaters on trial had access to enough funds to hire a solicitor.

"I'll give you the good news first. Mrs. Malfoy, you will not be receiving the Kiss, nor will your son." Narcissa allowed a small sob to escape her throat. Draco was unsure if it was in relief or sorrow at the unspoken fact of her husband's fate.

"Public opinion on the Dementors is mixed at this point," Ms. Janney continued. "They were part of He Who Must Not Be Named's reign of terror, and people fear them. On the other hand, people also want to see the Death Eaters dealt with once and for all. The Ministry plans to use the Dementors one last time, for those convicted criminals who were both involved in the first war and subsequently escaped Azkaban at some point; no third chances, as it were. That would be the Lestrange brothers, Dolohov, Nott, Mulciber, Crabbe, and Lucius. Avery and Macnair died of their injuries from the last battle, and Rookwood was killed in prison while awaiting trial."

So that was it. Lucius would lose his hateful soul. "And prison for the rest of us?" Draco asked stoically.

"The Carrows never went to prison, same as Yaxley and Travers. And Jugson wasn't there the first time around, nor were Selwyn or Rolwe. They are all Marked, though. They'll be sentenced to life in Azkaban. You _aren't_ Marked, Mrs. Malfoy, and your late defection is known. They've decided on only twenty years for you."

Narcissa closed her eyes and swallowed thickly. "Survivable," she declared. "Especially if they intend on dismissing the Dementors."

Ms. Janney grimaced. "That isn't all, however." She turned to Draco.

"You're a problem for them. All of your Azkaban-worthy crimes - the _Imperius_ on the barmaid, the attempted murder - were committed as a minor. What they have you on as an adult is conspiracy against the government, by housing Voldemort, and you weren't even head of the household. If this wasn't a war crimes trial, they'd give you five years probation for being caught up in the whole thing and be done with it. But this was the second time He Who Must Not Be Named rose to power and also the second time the Malfoy name was involved, so people are afraid of you."

"So I'm to be sent away to keep them quiet, is that it? Is my sentence longer or shorter than Mother's?" He was already picturing it: the cold sea air, the long stretches of solitude. Perhaps they would be allowed to visit each other in the lonely stone prison.

"They aren't sending you to Azkaban at all."

Draco blinked in confusion. "But... I'm Marked. And they said guilty. I'm guilty."

"You were also a child. The sentencing committee has quite a bit of leeway, but not enough to send a minor to Azkaban."

"I'm not underage now, though. I turned 18 in June. I'm well past considered an adult." Hope was beginning to bloom in Draco's heart, even as he insisted it could not be true.

"Which is why they can't risk simply allowing you back into society. You're considered a Dark wizard now. They feel they have a duty to protect the citizenry."

So he was a threat now, like werewolves and vampires. A creature to be avoided. "Are they sending me to exile?" That too was survivable.

"I'm afraid not." For the first time, a crack in her professionalism appeared, and the solicitor frowned in pity. "They've decided to strip you of your magic."

A crashing sound; his mother had dropped her china teacup.

"I don't - but how? _Strip_ me of it? Is that possible?"

"Won't that _kill_ him?" Narcissa cried out, rising halfway to her feet, then sinking back down as she realised there was nowhere to go, nothing to be done. It pained Draco to see his mother in such agony.

"It won't," Ms. Janney assured them. "It simply removes the ability to create magic, to cast spells. You're still a magical being, you'll be able to see through Muggle-repelling wards and use objects like a Portkey. You won't be able to use a wand again, of course."

"How long is this sentence for?" Narcissa asked. "Surely not as long as mine."

"I'm afraid it's irreversible." Draco felt his own hands begin to shake. Beside him his mother was audibly trying not to sob.

"Will it - does it hurt?" He could not help the question, but immediately regretted it as his mother began crying in earnest.

Ms. Janney had the grace to look away. "I couldn't tell you. I've never heard of such a thing before. And we are bound by our oath to the courts to never speak of this to outside parties, so I can't exactly ask anyone else."

Draco nodded faintly. "I'd like to be excused to my room, please." He felt dizzy; if he was going to fall apart, he should do it out of sight of his mother, shouldn't he?

"I'm sorry, but that isn't all," Ms. Janney sighed. "They intend to do the same to all the Death Eaters sent to Azkaban; they won't need their magic there, after all. And I believe you are included in that as well, Mrs. Malfoy."

"The Manor," she hissed through her tears. "They want to break our bond to it, to steal it."

Confused, Ms. Janney looked around at the walls of the parlour. "Confiscation of your property was a given, especially seeing as how it was used in the last days of the war. They don't need to send you away or take Draco's magic to do that, surely?"

"There are blood wards a thousand years old on this house. They can take it, sell it, use it as a Muggle hotel for all they like, but it would never reveal its secrets or be properly useful as long as a Malfoy lives and breathes. Yet without our magic to work the wards, it might be possible."

"It's certainly possible that was a motivation. Still, I think this is bigger than you. Years ago, Rookwood was an Unspeakable. When He Who Must Not Be Named took over the Ministry, Rookwood went back into the Department of Mysteries, and it's rumoured he was looking for a way to take magic away from Muggle-borns. He may have found something, and it's being used in retaliation."

"Surely not everyone supports this. It's barbaric."

"I'd prefer prison, I think," Draco added. He yearned to reach out for his mother beside him, but could not stop shivering, despite the unbearable warmth of the room.

"I don't think the details will be revealed at large, and the Unbreakable Vow will prevent us from doing so without permission. It's quite likely this will all be done in secret."

"It won't be a secret when I go out in public and can't use a wand!" Draco exclaimed, beginning to panic. Ms. Janney spread her hands in a helpless gesture.

"I'm afraid I don't have all the answers for you. I only know what I was told."

"By someone involved in the case, obviously, if you are under a Vow," Narcissa said bitterly. "They want us to suffer, to languish here knowing what's coming."

The solicitor didn't have a reply for that. Narcissa reached for her son and pulled Draco against her tightly. He took this as permission to cry and tucked his head into her shoulder, silent tears staining her thin robes.

"Holkey will see you out," she said weakly. Ms. Janney nodded and retreated to give the grieving pair their privacy.

Draco broke down as soon as she left. "Mother," he cried, no longer caring about appearances. "What is going to become of us?"

"I don't know, my dragon," she murmured, rocking him as if he still a child. "I don't know."

~~~

Draco felt immensely guilty as he crawled into bed that night. He had cried himself out in his mother's arms as she attempted to soothe him with gentle strokes of his hair. She didn't give him platitudes; even in the face of annihilation, a Malfoy did not sugar-coat things. But he knew he'd been terribly selfish. His mother faced the same sentence, in addition to a lengthy stretch in prison, and he had done nothing to comfort her.

He lay flat on top of the covers, stiff as a board, and stared into the near darkness. If he concentrated, he could feel the underlying thrum of magic that was ever-present in the Manor licking at the edges of his senses. How dreadful it would be on the day when it left him forever.

He stretched his fingers out, trying to sense the magic like physical thing. He caught sight of a vase on the windowsill, its outline visible in the slight moonlight that peeked through the heavy drapes, and fixed his gaze directly on it with his index finger pointed.

" _Wingardium Leviosa,_ " he whispered.

Nothing happened.

All three of them had lost their wands. The Dark Lord had taken Lucius' and then broken it in battle; his mother's was lost forever in the Fiendfyre; his own was likely still in the hands of Potter. Draco had been hiding during the final showdown between Potter and the Dark Lord, but everyone knew what happened, as Potter had seen fit to narrate the whole thing rather than get it over with quickly.

A silver lining, then: none of them would suffer the indignity of seeing their wands snapped in front of them.

House-elf magic had been sustaining them during their purgatory before sentencing. Fires were lit, food was cooked, beds were made. But there were other subtle things that had occurred throughout the house, and Draco knew what was happening. His father had once held Abraxas Malfoy's wand in a case in his office. Sometime during the Dark Lord's stay in their home, the case had disappeared, almost as if Lucius had foreseen the need to have a backup. It must have been hidden somewhere very safe to miss the Auror's sweep of the house. Perhaps their detection spells simply didn't pick it up - it was only a wand after all, not a Dark artifact. Lucius _had_ to have it on his person. There were too many books in the library that required magic to open, and he'd been holed up in there most of the day for weeks.

And so somewhere in the Manor was a wand, a wand that Draco could hold and cast with one more time before the power that defined him as a Wizard was stolen away. He only had to gather the courage to confront his father and ask him for it. Of course, that would mean facing the fact that Lucius was good as dead, and Draco had barely begun to accept his own fate.

He considered trying to levitate the vase wandlessly once more, but he'd never been adept at that kind of magic. It was why his mother had to give him her own wand and go defenceless after the incident with the Snatchers. Instead he curled up in an exhausted ball without bothering to change into his nightclothes.

Crying always wore him out. He'd learnt that in Sixth year.

~~~

As Draco desperately tried to cling to his last bit of freedom, the days spent waiting in the Manor that had once stretched out before him like a strange dream now flew by.

The first of August arrived heavy and wet, with a thunderstorm looming across the plain. Draco woke to his mother sitting at his bedside.

"I had thought we might take breakfast in the conservatory, but the weather does not wish to cooperate."

Draco glanced out the window at the dim sky. "The storm shouldn't begin for some time yet. It would be nice to see the gardens."

They made their way down to the glass-enclosed room, where a simple breakfast of milk, oranges, and bread with jam and honey awaited them. They ate in silence as the wind began to pick up. Several flowers from a late-blooming rose bush fell off and stuck wetly to the glass in the humid air.

Narcissa was the first to speak, looking out over the grounds as she spread marmalade on a flaky piece of bread.

"When I first came here, it seemed so quiet. Our home was less sprawling, and I grew up with two sisters. My cousins were also around often when they were children and there was usually some sort of noise. It was frequently an argument, but it was activity nonetheless."

"What kind of arguments?" Draco asked curiously. The house of Cygnus and Druella had seemed just as dignified as the Manor when he'd been young, and the few trips to Grimmauld Place the same, the dilapidated feeling of that townhouse notwithstanding.

"Andromeda and Bella argued frequently. And then there was Andi and my parents, Sirius and his parents, Sirius and _my_ parents..."

She saw Draco's wondering look and smiled knowingly. "We put up a good front, the Blacks. _Toujours Pur,_ so elegant and refined. But every name blasted off that tapestry came after months of rowing. And don't believe everything you hear. There was sorrow involved in that act."

Draco spared a moment to quietly speculate if his mother wished she hadn't cut ties with her sister. He remembered Voldemort's taunts at their dinner table about his cousin and her werewolf child. Andromeda would have been severed from the wards when she was disinherited, leaving the Black-Rosier property to Narcissa, but it was only 50 years old. Therefore, it didn't have true blood wards and could be passed down to whomever. Draco assumed any Black property in his mother's possession would thus go back to his aunt, and through her the new baby would get it. He was the Black heir, now. Not Draco.

Not that it mattered much either way. The name was dead.

"Was it lonely for you here, growing up in such a large house without a brother or sister?" Narcissa sounded haunted. He wanted to reassure her that it had been fine - and it had been fine, he didn't care, but now that she'd brought it up he couldn't help recall certain things.

"I wasn't sad... but I suppose it _was_ lonely, sometimes."

"I am sorry you were an only child."

Draco stabbed an orange with a fork rather gracelessly. He'd bitten his nails down too far to use them to begin a peel. "Why didn't you try to have more children? I never thought to question it, since none of my friends had large families. Was it father's decision? The Malfoy family tree seems to mostly be only children. Not yours, though."

"No, the Blacks have a very unusual ability to avoid the... problems that come along with generations of Pure-blood marriages."

"You mean the inbreeding." If she could discuss difficult things, he could too.

"Yes, that." She smiled wryly. "And _that_ wasn't a problem for the Malfoys until a few hundred years ago when they stopped marrying Half-bloods."

Yes, Draco had heard some muttering about that in the portrait gallery when he was younger. He couldn't ask them now - it was on the locked side of the house.

"There is a point to this conversation," Narcissa continued. He waited for her to elaborate, but she trailed off. A _crack_ sounded as an elf appeared and placed a bowl of strawberries and cream between them. It Disapparated, leaving the dirty dishes behind.

Narcissa pushed a drop of honey on the plate around with her finger. Draco paused, the rind of the orange feeling sticky on his own hands. They had completely abandoned table manners at this point, hadn't they?

"This is something your father would have told you upon your betrothal," she began again, her voice gone flat. "You see, your friends in Slytherin, the ones without siblings - there is a reason for that."

"I thought we had established that it was the inbreeding."

"Yes, and that is the root cause, but there is a more direct reason. Although the intermarrying was the cause for declining fertility, it is the solution that has resulted in small families."

Draco sucked the rind. It was bitter. "I don't follow."

"There is a spellcasting ritual that makes it possible to guarantee conception of a strong child. It's been passed down in secret through the sacred twenty-eight."

"Wait," Draco said slowly, putting down the mutilated orange. "Wouldn't that mean we have _large_ families?"

"It requires a sacrifice," Narcissa intoned grimly. "Of the mother's ability to have further children."

He sucked in a breath. "You - you did this? To have me?"

She quickly shook her head. "Not to have you, no. But many of your classmates - Nott, Goyle, Crabbe - are all assuredly a result of it."

"But all of their mothers are dead," Draco said with a sick fascination. "I thought it strange when I was younger, but..." But he hadn't cared about anyone else's pain when he was a child. Why should he? He had everything.

"That is the second aspect of the ritual. One may make a further sacrifice to ensure a _male_ heir. It doesn't always happen right away - sometimes a woman dies in childbirth, sometimes she weakens and dies years later. Occasionally a man will love his wife so much he gives his life up, instead. And some don't bother with the second part and take a chance. I suspect that is the case with your friend Pansy."

"Is there a counterspell?!"

"I'm afraid not. There is the rare miracle, if you can call it that. The Greengrass girl, Daphne, who was one of your candidates for an engagement. She has a sister, a younger one. An accident." Narcissa sighed sympathetically. "She'll die before she's 40. Blood curse directly resulting from the use of this ritual. The Greengrasses did not give anything up to have her... so it took from her anyway."

" _You_ have sisters! Your father had a sister and a brother, and there's Sirius and Regulus - "

"Somehow, someone further back in my line cast a fertility spell of such power it still resonates today. I won't lie, they probably killed a number of people to do it."

"So why am _I_ an only child then, if you didn't have the same issue?" He wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer.

"Because while I wasn't worried about getting pregnant in the first place, your father _was_ worried about having a proper heir."

Realisation dawned on Draco. "You gave up your ability to have any more children in order to guarantee your first was a boy. That I was a boy."

"My father only had girls. It wasn't too terrible for him, since he had two male nephews. Lucius Malfoy was not about to take that same chance." Draco wondered, as he secretly always had, just how many of his mother's choices were her own. She didn't sound resentful, simply matter of fact. There _could_ have been resignation in her tone, but Draco wasn't well-versed in her emotions enough to be sure. Her face was inscrutable as she licked the drop of honey from her finger. How could she so calmly describe such a monumental decision?

"And you _agreed_ to this? If you thought you could have more, did you not want to try it first, see what happened with luck?" Draco didn't know much about women, but he was pretty sure they were supposed to want babies.

Apparently he didn't know women at all. "Honestly? No," Narcissa sighed. "Being a mother was something I was expected to do, but I didn't care to do it more than once." He must have looked hurt, because she rushed on.

"Draco, I love you very much. I didn't even know I could love someone so much until I held you in my arms. I know I wasn't always properly affectionate with you as a child - "

"It's fine, Mother." He cut her off. "You gave me everything I wanted."

"I 'gave' you, yes. Things. Money."

"I knew you loved me," he said, softer now. "I know you love me still. I think I'd go mad here in this house if it weren't for you." He turned away, tears pricking his eyes. This conversation had taken on a terrible sense of finality. "And you must know that I love you more than anything."

Narcissa followed his gaze out to the ever-darkening sky. "Sometimes I wish you didn't. Perhaps then you would have run away."

"No." Draco did love his mother, but he was bound by something more than that. "I wouldn't have."

"You are Lucius' son as well." He couldn't decipher her tone.

"Did you ever love him?" He felt cruel asking. Narcissa didn't shy away from the question, however.

"I didn't when we were married. It was, unsurprisingly, arranged. And regardless of what mothers assure their daughters, love does not always grow in such cases. But Lucius was... strong, and handsome, and very devoted to his causes. I don't mean to shock you, but it was the way he managed to avoid prison when you were a baby that first kindled my real desire for him. After that our love grew as our power did."

"Well that's at an end," Draco snarled unkindly.

"If you blame him you must also blame me." He turned back quickly, leaning over the table towards her.

"You? You haven't abandoned me!"

"I meant for our predicament in the first place."

"We can't turn back time," Draco said wearily. "It was a nightmare, especially at the end. But I can see all the connecting threads in my mind, and each point I could have chose differently, I didn't. I blame myself for where we've ended up just as much as you or Father."

"Oh, Draco," she sighed unhappily. "No. This is our fault. You're my child, I should have protected you."

"It's done. It's over." He stood and walked to the glass wall, placing a hand on it and watching the trees swaying madly in the wind. The glass was warm.

"I just wanted to be together before the end. He's going to... going to die, really, and he won't even say goodbye."

"I don't think he knows how to."

"I wish he could be like you. You've been so honest with me these last few weeks. I feel like I'm only just getting to know you." It was possibly the most adult discussion they'd ever had, and yet he was overcome with the sudden urge to go sit in her lap, to wind his arms around her neck and be held like a baby. Instead he just leaned his forehead against the glass and closed his eyes.

"I suppose that in the end, it's best you had only me. Merlin knows no one else needs to be caught up in this mess."

"Honestly, I just didn't want to have another argument with your father about names," she said lightly.

Draco smiled and allowed her to steer the conversation away from their fate. "How did you manage mine?" Draco had always loved being a dragon, being set among the stars, but he knew it was a Black legacy.

"I wanted to bring a little bit of the heavens into this house. It was a hard-won battle. Your father was set on Titus." Draco snorted. He could not imagine being Titus Lucius Malfoy.

"Perhaps Julian would have suited," his mother continued. "That's a fine Roman name."

"Better than Titus, at any rate."

"Did you ever think about names for a son?" He had, and he'd looked to the sky like his mother.

"I've always favoured Scorpius."

"Yes, that would have been lovely," she murmured.

 _Would have._ Draco's heart shattered for his mother, so heavy with the knowledge that her only child would soon lose everything, and would never have a family of his own. Not that Draco had put an inordinate amount of thought into the process. He just knew that as a Malfoy at some distant point in the future he'd be expected to carry on.

_Pop!_

The elf who had appeared bowed low. "Mistress, the Master requests your presence in the library."

Narcissa nodded. "You are dismissed." No thanks were necessary to an elf, and no response was needed - Lucius expected his wife would approach. She rose fluidly from the table, plucking one last strawberry from the dish.

Draco watched and memorised the scene. His mother, in a morning dress of thin purple silk. The sky, now nearly black. The trees in the garden, so green against the dark clouds. Her fingers, stained with strawberry juice as she licked one clean.

He joined her at the door and held out his arm. "I'll walk you there."

Draco didn't know what he expected to find in the library. It certainly wasn't the sight of Lucius hunched over a table with countless pieces of parchment spread around him. As Draco and Narcissa drew closer, he realised they were pages torn from various books.

Lucius glanced up, then drew up to his full height. "Draco. I did not call for you."

"Mother and I were eating breakfast. I wished to give you my regards." Draco was proud of how steady his voice was. Inside he was thinking of the story his mother had just told him, of Lucius' desire to have an heir at any cost. Draco was that heir. Why did he now ignore his son? Was it truly that he did not know how to say goodbye?

"Oh, Draco, look at this." Narcissa pointed to a pile of books that had been toppled over near a shelf. On top was his old copy of _Dunstan the Dragon Tamer._ "I used to read this to you at night."

"Father read it a time or two." Draco still did not break his father's stare. Lucius was the first to look away, as he moved jerkily and unexpectedly picked up the children's book.

"I enjoyed watching you fall asleep, knowing you were safe." He stroked the spine with dry hands. He had been handling parchment for hours every day.

Abruptly, he turned to Draco and thrust the book into his hands. "You should keep this." Draco nodded dumbly as he accepted the book and tucked it under his arm. Lucius returned to his table of scattered paper.

"I'll talk to you later, darling," Narcissa said pointedly. Draco bowed his head and retreated from the library. He would get no closure from his father.

Yet his tired voice followed Draco out of the room with one last parting remark.

"Be safe."

~~~

Lucius didn't emerge from the library that evening, but Draco did see his mother once more as he turned in for bed.

"I'm glad I caught you before you were asleep." Narcissa still wore her purple dress from that morning, but she'd added a richly coloured green robe as well.

"I took dinner alone in the parlour," he replied. He could hear the petulant tone in his own voice and regretted it, but he'd wanted her near.

"I had things to discuss with your father. He reminded me of many things that I had put out of mind." She sat beside him on the bed. For a moment he thought she would pull him close to her as she had been doing increasingly the past few days, but he was disappointed when she only took his hand.

"Your father does love you, you know. He is a proud man, and the past few months have destroyed many of his illusions. Mine as well. I hope you won't judge us too harshly in the years to come." She dropped his hand back into his lap and stood. Draco immediately felt bereft; she had only stayed close to him for a moment.

"You couldn't have known how this would go," he tried to reassure her. For all his mixed up feelings about his father and whose fault their predicament was, it did him no good to berate his mother about it. All he wanted was to cling to her in an effort to stave off the mind numbing fear of his fate.

She remained facing away from him, her back straight and proud. "A Malfoy is no servant. Neither is a Black. Perhaps we had forgotten that, but we shall try to make it right."

Draco shook his head in confusion. "I don't see how." His mother turned to face him again, but did not reapproach, and for a single unsettling moment he thought he saw pity on her face. Even if he had, it was quickly replaced by the sorrowful tenderness she had shown him of late.

"You'll have to trust me, my dragon. And also trust that you are first in my heart." She leaned in and kissed the top of his head. "But your father and I, we are who we are and our duty is what it is."

Narcissa backed away towards the bedroom door as Draco tried to parse her confusing statement. Surely duty was over for them.

"Goodnight, Draco."

"Goodnight, Mother," he answered, still bewildered.

She paused one last time, clutching the door frame tightly. "I love you Draco. And I never wanted you to be alone." Then she disappeared down the hallway, leaving Draco in his bed, mystified.

~~~

Draco could not forget his mother's parting words that night. He tossed and turned until finally, he sat up and called for an elf to bring him tea.

He sat in the dim light of the single candle beside his bed and sucked the piece of lemon the elf had laid on the saucer.

He paced beside the fireplace, unlit in the summer heat.

He peeled back the thick curtains on his window, tracing the leaded glass as he watched the trees swaying in the angry storm.

He could not shake the feeling that a reckoning was imminent.

 

_BANG._

~~~

All that Draco could hear was pounding - the pounding of his feet as he ran breakneck down the hall, the pounding of the storm outside, the pounding of his fist against his parents' bedroom door. The sharp cracking noise had echoed throughout the house, and both elves also came scrambling out from wherever they'd been to look for the source. They nearly tripped Draco as he came to a halt.

He waited - one breath, two breaths - and then did something he hadn't done since he was 4 years old, seeking refuge from a nightmare: he opened his parent's door without waiting to be summoned.

Draco froze as the door swung open and revealed a shocking scene. Both of his parents were arranged on the floor of their bedroom in a state of undress. They seemed as if they had been dropped there like dolls after a child tired of playing with them. Candles were lit and placed in a pattern around their semi-nude bodies, and an unidentified sticky substance formed painted runes on the floor.

He was somewhat aware of the elves wailing as he haltingly approached the collapsed figure of his mother. She was nude underneath the green robe she'd worn earlier; it was splayed open and fell around her in folds. For several paralysing moments he thought she was dead, but then noticed the slow rise and fall of her breasts. That sprung him into action, quickly pulling the robe shut around her to preserve her modesty.

Lucius Malfoy lay dead in the centre of the room, his demise belied by his unblinking eyes that stared at the inlaid ceiling. Draco was torn between the desire to help his mother - although how, he couldn't say - and the need to tend to his father's body. His sense of propriety won out, and he tore a sheet from the bed to cover Lucius, who was naked from the waist down.

It was all too apparent what Lucius and Narcissa had been up to before whatever catastrophe befell them. Draco felt a wave of embarrassment, but he stifled it and moved to lift his mother from the floor. She was very light, even lighter than he would have expected. He tucked her into his arms as she must have done for him countless times when he was a baby. Gently, he lay her down upon the bed, sparing only a moment for his own self-consciousness before tucking her in underneath a quilt.

"Is there anything you can do for her?" Draco asked the female elf.

"Holkey is not knowing what is wrong with Mistress! But Holkey can watch over her."

He nodded and turned back to his father. Kneeling, he checked Lucius' pulse just to be sure, but it was clear that there was nothing to be done. A long cut ran along the inside of his forearm and his nightshirt was covered in spots of tacky blood. Draco carefully brushed Lucius' hair from his face and arranged it around his shoulders. It felt just like his own, sliding smoothly between his fingers. Unbidden, a memory arose of watching Lucius brushing it back into a ribbon when Draco was five or six.

_"Someday I'll have hair like yours, Father."_

_"Not until you are the man of the house, Draco." His father looked down at him, a small smile playing at his lips. "But you will look quite dashing, I'm sure."_

Tears unexpectedly brimmed at the corner of his eyes. Quickly, he stood and tried to compose himself. If he did not report this, there might be consequences - although he wasn't sure how much worse things could get.

"Do you know how to summon the Aurors that are responsible for watching the house, Holkey?" The despondent elf bobbed her head up and down. "Good. Then fetch them." Something near Lucius suddenly caught his eye. "Wait!" He bent over to pull the sheet aside a few inches, and Abraxas Malfoy's wand was revealed near his father's hand.

He glanced over at his mother, but there had been no change. "Give me a moment to take care of this."

Now that his Lucius could not argue, Draco went to the library and entered a small study that was located behind a row of bookshelves. It was an unlikely target for Aurors in search of Dark artifacts; as a records room, it held copies of contracts, deeds and legal papers from the Malfoy's history, but no objects of note. Several important decrees were framed on the walls, including those appointing Septimus Malfoy to the Wizengamot. The frame was large and the padding that sat behind the parchment was mostly there to ensure it sat flush with the glass. Draco thought the frame may have at one time held a thicker canvas painting. It was within this padding that he secreted the wand, stroking it and wishing he had time for just one quick spell.

Rushing back to the bedroom, he checked his mother once more - still breathing - and gave permission for Holkey to summon the Aurors.

The next hour was a blur. The two men who were stationed outside the protective wards on the Manor were not, in fact, full Aurors; they had to call two of their superiors and a witch from St. Mungo's to deal with Narcissa. They questioned Draco angrily and repeatedly about his knowledge of the ritual that had been performed in the bedroom, but eventually accepted both Draco and the elves insistence that no one else had been involved. Lucius' body was taken for some sort of examination and Narcissa was Apparated to the hospital. The two guards returned to their posts after informing Draco they would return in two day's time to fetch him for his hearing.

Silence reigned as the whirlwind of activity settled. Draco slowly dragged himself back to his own suite. Numbly, he washed the spots of his father's blood off his hands. As he looked at himself in the mirror he was struck by how much his hair had grown since he last had it cut. When was that... Easter hols?

A strand fell in his eyes. He pushed it aside. It was smooth and blond.

Seized abruptly with a manic desire he snatched up a pair of scissors from the drawer and hacked at his platinum locks. Holkey appeared from nowhere in the doorway of the bathroom and cried for Master to let her help, but he ignored her. The _snip snip_ resonated in his ears like the slashing of a knife, like the slashing of a wand, like _Sectumsempra._ When he was done his hair lay close to his head in a very unprofessional choppy manner.

Who fucking cared. He didn't need to look presentable for court. His fate was already decided.

~~~

No one told Draco if his mother was alive or dead. He slept fitfully and only ate when the elves seemed as if they would beat their heads against a wall if he continued to refuse. Finally, the day arrived when he would be brought before a judge again.

Early that morning, while the elves were still asleep, he snuck down to the library and brought Abraxas' wand out. He held it, feeling the power thrumming through it and the magic under his skin like a living thing. He let it flow through him and cast spell after spell. Mostly first-year stuff to begin with, like _Lumos,_ and then advancing to stronger things. He lit candles with _Incendio_ and put them out with _Aguamenti._ He cast Cleaning Charms on the room and on himself. He even transfigured a paperweight into a tiny dragon figurine.

Finally he attended to the task he'd really come down for. He gathered a number of unobjectionable books - histories, novels, all his old Hogwarts textbooks - and placed them in a travelling case. The leather bag automatically shrunk any book that was placed inside. It required a charm to open and unshrink them, so they would be unavailable to Draco after today, but they weren't for reading. They were for selling.

As dawn crept up, Holkey peered into the room. "Is Master wanting a bath drawn before his appointment today?"

His _appointment._ Like it was one of his father's political meetings. Draco was suddenly overcome with rage.

He spun on his heel and pointed the wand at Holkey. _"Imperio!_ "

Her eyes glazed over and Draco tamped down his discomfort. He needed to hide the presence of the wand, and they all thought he was a Dark wizard already, so what was the harm?

"You must never reveal that you saw me down here this morning." Holkey nodded, and then the light returned to her eyes. She gave him a disapproving look, one Draco had never seen on a Malfoy elf.

"Master is not needing to command Holkey to keep his secrets."

Draco watched in confusion as the elf went to draw him a bath. Creatures under the Imperius curse weren't supposed to react like that. Maybe he was losing his touch. That particular Unforgivable had always tasted bad to him, like a film laid on his tongue as he gave orders.

With one last look of longing Draco put the wand back in its hiding place, carefully pressing the padding down so that nothing seemed amiss. In the en suite he washed himself slowly and packed several of his favourite hair potions into a small satchel. Holkey had laid a suit out for him that he felt was far too formal for the barbaric act that was about to occur. It was as if he were preparing for his own funeral.

There was one plain suitcase in storage that he had used his first year at Hogwarts. Plain not in appearance - it was leather with dragon hide accents - but in function: it did not require the use of a extension or locking charm, something important when Draco had been eleven and unable to use his wand on the journey to school, and unskilled in those charms anyways. He filled it with two pairs of trousers, several shirts, an extra pair of shoes and a spare pair of robes. He'd never enjoyed wearing pants, and now used the excuse of economy to exclude them. His plainest robes he put on over the suit. Belatedly he wished he'd thought to bring the wand out sooner and cast protection and Warming Charms on the robes, but it was too late now.

He added standard medicinal potions from his cabinet to the satchel, along with the few loose Galleons he kept lying around and a novel he'd been casually reading. Finally he placed the one photograph he had of his parents and himself looking somewhat happy on top of the clothes and shut the suitcase.

Draco forced himself to look around his room one last time. It was at once a child's room, with a Tornados poster on one wall and a clutter of meaningless objects at the bottom of the armoire, and the room of a boy who had to grow up too fast.

He met the Aurors who arrived at the door in their stiff red robes with a blank expression on his face. One raised a brow. "Luggage? You think you're going on a trip?"

"They may not send me to prison," he said simply, not letting on that he was forewarned of the sentence. "But I think we all know I'm not coming back here."

The Auror nodded slowly and cast a quick detection charm on the suitcase, briefcase and satchel. When nothing sinister - or particularly valuable - was revealed, he reached a hand out.

"We'll Apparate outside the gates. Come along, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco stepped across the threshold.

The door of Malfoy Manor swung closed behind him with a noise like a coffin slamming shut.

~~~

He was led into a room deep underground, further than most of the offices. The same stern faces that had observed his trial were present, as was the gavel-banging judge. Draco sat quietly in the seat provided and stared resolutely at the table in front of him, thinking about his actions that morning. He was terrible at being a so-called Dark wizard. But he wasn't a good person either, and it was time for his reckoning.

The judge picked up the gavel. "We now begin the sentencing hearing for Draco Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy."

So his mother _was_ alive, then.

"Both defendants have been found guilty. Mr. Ravling, I understand your other client is medically indisposed and you will be speaking on her behalf?" The barrister who who worked with Ms. Janney affirmed. "Very well then. Mr. Malfoy, do you have any last words for the court regarding your conviction or upcoming sentence?"

Draco hadn't been sure they would allow him to speak, but he had thought about what he would say if they did.

"I only ask that you spare my mother."

The judge raised an eyebrow. "No pleading for yourself? How very unlike your father you are in this. I was there when he claimed to be Imperiused the first time around, you know. Seems he has wiggled out of justice a second time." Draco had no answer for that. He knew none was expected.

"Very well. Draco Malfoy, you have been found guilty of the use of an Unforgivable curse, attempted murder, and conspiracy. As a minor during the heaviest of these crimes, you are to be given probation. You must find gainful employment and lodging and report to a probation officer in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement every six months for the next five years, and yearly after that for five more."

"Furthermore, as a member of a family that has participated in and elevated some of the worst crimes this century, we in the court determine that you shall be stripped of your ability to perform magic." Draco glanced furtively at the rest of the Wizengamot members present, wondering if any of them balked at such a severe penalty, but their faces were uniformly grim. "This process will take away your ability to create magic, to cast spells that well up from your own power, and to Apparate. Magical objects imbued with their own power such as Portkeys will be accessible to you, as will the ability to see through Muggle-repelling wards."

"No known ritual can change you from a magical being," the judge continued with a sneer. "Magic is still in your blood. Your kind were always obsessed with blood. But you won't be able to cause any more damage or harm."

The gavel banged once.

"As the hostess of Voldemort, Narcissa Malfoy is hereby sentenced to twenty years in Azkaban Prison. She will be remanded there as soon as she is deemed fit by the staff at St. Mungo's. This court also determines that as a member of the Malfoy family by marriage, she undergo the same ritual as her son and be stripped of her ability to perform magic."

The gavel banged a second time.

"Now to the matter of property. This court finds that the misuse of the property owned by the Malfoy family, including Malfoy Manor, causes said property to be forfeit to Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Their sole heir is also being sentenced here, and we declare the property forfeit to him as well. In the absence of any other family members fit to inherit, said property is declared abandoned and therefore ownership passes to the Ministry. You, boy, no illegitimate offspring running around?"

Draco realised he was being addressed, and shook his head to indicate that he did not. "If you ever have children," and the _if_ hangs there, heavy with cruel intent - they know that Draco could never make his way in the Muggle world, and no witch would have him when he's no better than a Squib - "then they will not be able to claim retroactive inheritance once this decision is final."

This was proceeding exactly as he had expected. The gavel raised for one final strike -

\- and the barrister jumped up beside him.

"Draco Malfoy does not have any children," Mr. Ravling stated loudly, "but Narcissa Malfoy has one more."

Finally the stony faces of the court cracked, and a low murmur spread through the room.

"There are no birth records showing this!" the judge said in a raised voice.

"Because the child is not yet born."

All the pieces clicked into place for Draco. The conversation in the conservatory. His father's late nights in the library. The runes and candles around his parent's naked bodies.

_Oh, Mother, what did you let him talk you into?_

"Narcissa Malfoy is with child. A Healer at St. Mungo's can confirm this. And as the court well knows, the Malfoy property is entailed and the heir is legally designated beginning at conception in its establishing charter."

The judge was turning red. "And is it the child of Lucius Malfoy, and therefore eligible to inherit?"

"You dare cast such aspersions on my client? You had her locked up for weeks while you dragged everything out." Mr. Ravling was really getting into his role. Of course, if the vaults weren't going to be seized by the Ministry his firm stood to make a massive amount of Galleons.

An elderly witch to the right of the judge leaned over to whisper in his ear. After a few moments, he sighed and raised the gavel again.

"This court determines that Narcissa Malfoy will be held in St. Mungo's until the child she carries is born, at which time the necessary spells will be cast to determine bloodline. At that time, should the child be a Malfoy, the properties due to he or she will be held in trust until he or she comes of age. Also at that time Narcissa Malfoy will be remanded to the courts for her sentence to be carried out."

The gavel fell.

So his mother had bought herself a nine month reprieve. More to the point, Lucius had bought the continued existence of a Malfoy estate with his own life. They had already sacrificed Narcissa's ability to have more children. The amount of magical energy required to break that spell and guarantee conception must have been massive. Nothing but the lord of the Manor would have sufficed.

Draco felt a tug at his arm. He was being led from the room, down a long hallway. He recognised the place - it was where he had been held in the days leading up to his trial.

"They won't be ready for you until tomorrow," the man beside him said. He was wearing a uniform that at first glance looked like an Auror's, but was devoid of any identifying badges and coloured dark blue.

"No two month wait this time?" He wouldn't object. It had been dreadful before: waiting for his trial, spending his birthday alone in a cell, not knowing what would become of him. But now that he knew what was waiting, he would have accepted any duration of time down here.

"This should have been over and done with," the not-Auror answered gruffly. "But the higher-ups had to give us all busy work for that spectacle of a holiday on the 31st, make themselves look good, let everyone know they've got it all under control."

Oh. Of course. July 31st. Of _course_ Potter's birthday had become a national holiday.

The not-Auror sneered as he unlocked the door of the cell. "Down here is the real power, though. You'll see tomorrow." He manoeuvred Draco through the door and locked it again behind him. "I'd try to get some rest. It's not going to be easy for you."

Draco knew he probably wouldn't get a moment of sleep.

~~~

Lucius had not spoken of his brief time in Azkaban. Yet Draco had overheard things about the mission gone wrong that landed him there. Some of it was logistical, bits and pieces of information he'd picked up through eavesdropping. Then there were the snide taunts muttered by Fenrir or Aunt Bella- as if she had the right to say anything, being a failure herself.

So Draco knew about the Hall of Prophecy. He knew about the cold room with a fluttering veil that lead to death.

Still, this did not prepare him for the magnificence of the entrance to the Department of Mysteries. Blue flame lit the circular room; the floor shone like the Black Lake at night. The two not-Aurors that marched him through the door closed it behind them, and suddenly the room spun like a top. Draco dizzily tried to remember which door had been in front of his eyes at the start of their rotation, but he could not.

Strangely, he thought of Potter, wondered how he'd reacted to this sight. He would've charged forward with no thought for the great tradition of the place, Draco supposed. Voldemort had lamented the loss of so many magical objects and prophecies in the battle. That was just as much his fault as Potter's, but no one was foolish enough to mention that to his face. Potter had left destruction in his wake - all for a righteous cause, but destruction nevertheless. The same could be said of Hogwarts, or Gringotts: beautiful places that had stood for years, even centuries, ravaged by the war that followed Potter since he was born. Who knew if Potter even realised what had been lost, or cared about it. He'd been raised by Muggles after all.

Draco himself could not be bothered with historical importance this morning, with the Department holding his doom.

Once, he'd been a curious person. Repairing the Vanishing Cabinet had driven him to despair, but he could not deny the pleasure he had felt when he finally solved the puzzle. It was a feeling quite separate from that of the reasons for the task. His younger self would have no doubt marvelled as one of the blue-coated men tapped his wand on a door to his right, opening a portal to a dark hallway. For Draco now it was a path full of fear. When he balked at continuing, the other man prodded him in the back with his wand.

It was impossible to tell how long the hallway was; all sound from their footsteps was swallowed up, as was the dim light of the lead not-Auror's wand. A door suddenly opened to the left and a dour Unspeakable emerged, carrying a dusty hourglass. The door slammed shut before Draco could see what was in the room behind it.

Finally they made a right turn, then a left, and came to a small chamber that appeared to have been carved out of rock. Two witches and a wizard stood next to a low stone dais, upon which several unfinished wands and numerous bottles were placed. Two basins sat to the right of the dais. Each were filled with glass orbs; the ones within the first basin were dull, while the second held several that glowed with an inner light. Draco thought for a moment they were the famous prophecy orbs, but they were larger than could be held in one hand, closer to the size of a crystal ball.

The not-Auror guards pushed him forward until he was in the middle of a painted circle. It made him think of the runes around his parents when he found them, and he shuddered.

"You are nervous," the witch to his left stated.

"Of course I am," Draco answered. He was determined not to break, but he could not hide his anxiety.

"This is not a simple process, and it will not be pleasant for you," the other witch chimed in. "Do not fight us and it will be over more quickly."

Draco glanced at his guards. "I couldn't fight you."

"You would be surprised what people try in desperation." The witch waved her hands, and the lines painted on the floor lit up. Draco felt a pressure from them, and knew that he could no longer leave the circle.

The wizard silently approached Draco. "Drink the potion," the first witch told him. Draco reached out hesitantly, then dropped his hand.

"You want to do this to get to the Manor. I understand. But my mother took that option away. You don't have to do this."

"Drink the potion."

"Please," he pleaded softly, though with no tears or raised voice. "They gave me probation. I'm no threat."

"Drink the potion." The wizard moved his hand toward the wand at his side, and Draco jerkily grabbed the potion from him, noting that the man could cross the circle while Draco could not. Before he could change his mind, he closed his eyes and downed the thick liquid that sloshed in the glass.

Immediately his body went cold and he was wracked with shivers. He grit his teeth against the feeling and remained standing. Another vial was thrust into his hand, and he drank that one as well, crying out as fire burned in his veins. He was aware of the first witch casting a complex motion towards him with one of the simple wands.

The wizard fetched three more bottles from the dais and indicated that Draco should drink two of them. The first made his skin crawl as if a thousand ants were upon him; the second washed that feeling away but left him with the notion that he was drowning. Fluid welled up in his lungs and he fell to his knees coughing. It could be only an illusion, but his terrified mind didn't know what was real and what was not.

Surely, he would suffocate. Surely, he was dying.

Another of the plain wands was waved over him to induce an odd tugging sensation. His breath returned to him, and he attempted to stand, still sputtering. All pretence of his actions being voluntary was dropped as the wizard grabbed him by the chin and poured the final potion down his throat.

Convulsing, Draco fell to the floor. It was as horrible as _Crucio,_ but different. He felt like lightning was crackling though his bones, tearing him apart. He bit through his bottom lip in an effort not to scream, but failed, and his pained cries echoed through the chamber. Through his tears and the taste of blood he saw the final wand being used to cast over him.

The second witch stepped up, and pointed her own wand at Draco. The tugging sensation from before grew stronger and stronger, until it felt like his very breath was being pulled from his body. The wizard picked up one of the dull glass balls and held it aloft as it began to glow, and Draco knew what was happening.

They were siphoning off his magic.

Somehow they had shocked his system into loosening its hold, and were now able to pull the magic out of him and store it. An indescribable dullness settled within him, like the beauty of the world was being stolen from him drop by drop. Draco gave up trying to sit upright and sprawled panting on the floor, feeling the last of his magic flow out of his trembling body.

Dimly, he heard the clinking of glass as the Unspeakables cleaned up the ritual. He could only really focus on the hardness of the floor and the heaviness he felt. Eventually one of the guards came and pulled him gently to his feet.

"Come on, boy. It's over."

~~~

They sat Draco down at a table in an antechamber. He was still too bewildered to do much but follow them. The pain had thankfully faded to a dull ache.

"Now, you know you are prohibited from talking to anyone about what happened here."

"Will you force me to take the Vow?" Draco asked thickly. One of the not-Aurors snorted.

"You can't take the Vow. It requires magic. No, this is a legal binding. If the Court finds out that you have revealed any of this, you'll be sent to Azkaban. Standard non-disclosure agreement."

A parchment and quill were pushed in front of Draco. "I won't be able to completely hide it. They told me I have to get a job. People will know I can't do magic."

"It will be reported that you've been bound from doing Dark magic. That's a complicated ritual, but a known one."

"But what about benign spells? I can't cast those, either."

"Are they really benign if cast by a Dark wizard?"

Draco frowned. People would believe that binding him from doing Dark magic had bound him totally. They would believe he was far more evil that he'd ever really been.

"Why didn't you just throw me in Azkaban," he whispered. "After everything I was convicted of, why go to so much trouble to let me out but hide what you've done to me?"

"You're so young," the not-Auror said, not unkindly. "The Court was certain if they put you in prison, it would draw attention from people who sympathised with your youth. Already there were - well, never mind that. They were determined to strip you, though, and it is imperative this ritual stay secret. Putting you in prison would bring scrutiny and gives you no incentive to keep quiet."

"But if I disappear into obscurity, wandless and impoverished and confirmed to be a wicked thing, people will forget about me." Now Draco truly understood. He was simply collateral damage in the Ministry's desire to take everything from his family. And if the magic they had stolen could truly be stored, who knew what they would do with it? Numbly, he signed the parchment. He couldn't imagine wanting to tell anyone about this ordeal anyways.

Draco took the lift all the way to the atrium by himself. He collected his limited luggage, feeling broken and humiliated under the stares of the various Ministry employees who stood about. Ignoring their hushed whispers, he made his way out of the Ministry, blinking in the sunlight. Unable to Apparate, he began the long walk to St. Mungo's.

He was now a free man.


	3. Sounds Otherwise Produced

When he was a small child, Draco's mother had called him 'her princeling.' He, being spoiled and mostly alone except for his parents and tutors, took this to heart. It wasn't until he was four years old and enrolled in a beginners' etiquette class with other Pure-blood children that he realised he was not in fact an actual prince.

No matter. His mother still treated him like one.

As he grew older, Draco pulled away from his mother's coddling and tried to emulate his father. He still accepted gifts at school and praise at home, but no longer allowed her to smooth his hair away from his forehead or kiss his cheeks.

He hadn't known how much he missed it until their house arrest.

Their recent emotional and physical closeness made it even harder to see Narcissa laid out in the hospital bed, blond hair in a limp halo around her pale face. One delicate wrist was chained to the bed, and various observation charms and alarm spells hovered beside her, ready to summon the Healers at a moments notice.

"She's allowed one visitor per week, for one hour each time," a nurse was saying to Draco. "Excluding her solicitor, of course. No wands allowed on the ward, and visitors must-"

"I don't have a wand," Draco interrupted. The nurse raised an eyebrow.

"Right. Well, your time started fifteen minutes ago, so you'll want to be going in now."

Draco clenched his fists and resisted the urge to argue that he'd been waiting outside the door all that time. The nurse unlocked the clear door with a spell - no privacy here - and led Draco inside. She stopped to check one of the monitoring charms, and a warm glow surrounded Narcissa's middle.

"So you're sure she's pregnant."

"We were sure as soon as we brought her in." Draco nodded in acknowledgement. This was yet another way they were superior to Muggles. Draco had heard it took them weeks to find out if a woman was pregnant. A Mediwitch could cast a detection spell within hours.

He stared at the soft indicative light around his mother in awe. Draco had never really fussed about having a sibling like some children. He was happy to be the focus of his parents attention and wasn't raised to share. Only occasionally, when he was bored or irritated that all his father's strict training was focused on him, did he idly wonder about having another Malfoy in the house. But as he'd told his mother during that fateful morning conversation, he'd never thought to question his status as an only child.

Now he was faced with the novel thought of being a sibling. A big brother. He didn't know if he'd prefer a little brother or a little sister. He knew what his father would have wanted, but he'd already used up his life to get Narcissa pregnant in the first place. He'd had nothing left to give in sacrifice to guarantee a son.

Perhaps it would be best if the new baby Malfoy was a girl, free from the expectations of an heir.

"Has she woken up at all?" He asked the nurse.

"You can ask me yourself," his mother answered faintly, startling Draco enough that he jumped.

"Mother. How are you feeling?"

"Tired but well. How are you?"

That was an impossible question to answer. He was less than a day out from having one of the very definitions of his being violently ripped from him. If he hadn't been so worried about his mother, he may have been curled up in a gutter somewhere, wishing for death. His concern for her had propelled on him the walk from the Ministry to St. Mungo's.

"I... could be better," he answered. It was honest, if inadequate.

Narcissa looked him up and down. "They have done it already, haven't they." Draco bowed his head in shame as tears began to run down his mother's cheeks.

"My darling, my sweet darling," she cried, heedless of the nurse that still hovered in the corner of the room. "Did they harm you? Are you in pain?"

"It's over, Mother. There's nothing to be done." Draco would mourn on his own time. "Tell me if there is anything I can do for you. How are you being treated?"

"Like a prisoner," she answered, clearly not mollified by his pat answer but unwilling to press him. "But all my needs are met. Ms. Janney stopped by after the hearing yesterday to let me know the result."

"I'm sure Father is pleased, in whatever grave they dropped him," Draco spat furiously.

"Draco, don't-"

"How could you let him do this? You could have died!"

"You know why," she said firmly. "You've known why since you were a little boy."

"For the family," he answered in a bitter voice. "But _you're_ my family, Mother, don't you see? I could have lost you!"

A cloud passed over Narcissa's face. "I like to think you would survive without me."

"If I had to, but I'd rather not." She had no response for that, and for several long moments the only sound was the humming of the charms surrounding her.

His mother's silence disquieted him, and he tried to fill the empty space. "You know I'll be here for you when you get out. You won't be much past 60." She remained mute, and he continued cautiously. "I'll take good care of them. The baby, I mean. I don't really know anything about children, but it can't be that hard, can it? If the Manor is held in trust I'll still have access to the elves, right?"

"I'm sure Holkey will enjoy having another child to look after," Narcissa said. Her eyes were shadowed, and Draco found he could not parse her thoughts. In lieu of anything else to say, he reached over for her hand.

They remained that way for some time. As the hour drew to a close, Narcissa drew back and gave Draco a worried look.

"Where are you staying?"

"I... supposed I would rent a room and then go down to Knockturn. I have to look for employment as part of my probation, and it's the most likely spot. Borgin may have something for me, or know someone who does." His mother's perfectly formed nose scrunched up, as it did when she was faced with something distasteful.

"I don't like that man. He was terribly unpleasant to you when you needed him."

"Yes, well." Draco didn't want to talk about what he'd needed Borgin for once upon a time. "At least we know he doesn't have scruples. It's harsh but true: that's the kind of person I need right now."

Narcissa opened her mouth to say something more, but the nurse came over and interrupted them.

"Alright, that's your time up. Come back next week if you like. You can have your weekly visitor on any day, Mrs. Malfoy, but you can only have one per Monday to Sunday period. It's best for us to get advance notice as well, otherwise you might find yourself waiting a while for someone to let you in." She directed the last part to Draco, who nodded. "Best be off, then. You can see yourself out."

He raised his mother's free hand and kissed it before turning to leave.

~~~

Despite the brave front he presented to his mother, Draco was wildly unsure what he should do next, and he definitely wasn't up for a job search at that moment. At the very tip of Diagon Alley was a small hotel - little better than a hovel- that was mostly used by tourists from poorer parts of Europe. He handed over one of his hoarded Galleons and climbed the rickety stairs to the room it afforded him: a bed, a washstand and a chamberpot. Lovely.

He was suddenly overcome with exhaustion, and climbed into the bed heedless of the fact it was still light outside. Once he would have turned his nose up at such a place, complaining about filth and bedbugs. Now, even so recently removed from his life of silken sheets and feather pillows, the bed seemed like the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Curling up underneath the scratchy blanket, Draco allowed the horrific day to finally catch up to him. His bones ached and his head swam; tears came to his eyes as he was wracked with great heaving sobs.

He hoped the walls were built better than the stairs.

What would he do if someone attacked him? He was defenceless. For that matter, how would he even go about the simplest tasks? The jug on the washstand was meant to be filled with _Aguamenti._ The contents of the chamberpot were meant to be vanished with _Evanesco._ Even the fireplace had to be lit with magic. And those were just the logistical issues. Draco felt hollow, used up, old beyond his years. There was no spark inside of him, no well of power to draw on. He was like the ekletrik lights Muggles used - switched off. Dead.

He wasn't even sure _what_ had been done to him exactly. Were the potions part of the spell, or would any trauma-causing brew have served the same purpose? Why did they pull his magic into that orb? Did it need a target, or were they saving it for something? The tiniest flicker of hope sang in his mind: maybe he could get it back someday. But Ms. Janney had said the process was irreversible. Draco wiped his snotty nose on his sleeve - stupid, really, as he only had so many shirts - and killed that hope in this heart.

He cried himself out and fell into a fitful sleep. Sometime in the night he woke and saw that it was raining. He held a flannel out the window to dampen it, then wiped his sticky face off best he could. He then promptly undid his work by dissolving into tears once more.

~~~

Walking down into Knockturn Alley brought back uncomfortable memories for Draco. As a boy he'd accompanied his father on several trips to the shadier shops, both selling and buying. The less he thought about his last fateful trip here, the summer before Sixth Year, the better.

Borgin and Burkes looked exactly as he'd left it: dusty, unkempt, and cluttered with strange and sometimes beautiful objects. The bell rang softly as he opened the door. Draco found that the curious child within him was still just as fascinated by the often-cursed wares on display. He eyed a pair of emerald cufflinks as Borgin made his way out from the back.

"I know you can't afford the likes of those anymore, Draco Malfoy." He looked more pompous now than he had when dealing with Lucius, or when Draco had threatened him with the Dark Mark. "So to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Draco knew that he could not appear weak. "The Malfoys may be less preeminent these days," he said haughtily, "but rest assured I will be working to restore us."

"You'll be working alright," Borgin snickered - a sound that didn't seem right coming from the stooping old man - and Draco had a very bad feeling his sentence had been covered in the _Prophet._ What was public about it, anyway.

He approached the counter. "I have a number of things to sell, if you are interested. And yes, I am also looking for work."

"The paper said you can't perform Dark magic anymore, so I can't imagine you're much use to me at the shop. But let me see what you've got in there." He eyed the satchel greedily.

Draco produced the expandable bookcase and set it on the counter. He then busied himself with the satchel, as if he were searching for something within. "Go on," he said, casually glancing up. "You can look through those."

As expected, Borgin unshrunk the contents of the case and began sorting through them. "Useless... worthless... _Standard Book of Spells Grade Three_? This isn't Flourish and Blotts, Malfoy... Hmm." He paused on a history of Dutch Pure-blood families from the sixteenth century. "I'll give you four Galleons for this."

"It's worth three times that and you know it."

"Five Galleons and not a Sickle more. You know this kind of reading isn't exactly popular these days."

Five Galleons was five nights with a roof over his head. Draco couldn't exactly turn him down. Borgin pawed through the rest of the books and selected the antique and obscure ones, giving Draco thirty Galleons for the entire lot. It was a bargain, and he wasn't gracious about it.

"You find something else to sell, come on back. A Malfoy down on his luck is an increase in mine, it seems."

Draco bit his tongue. "There is still the matter of employment. Do you have any recommendations?"

"Can't say that I do. Folks down here are lying low these days. You might try the tavern on the corner. Angie's been having trouble keeping up ever since the Ministry declared unbound house-elves free."

Dish washing and kitchen work, then. It would have to do.

~~~

The tavern was not hiring, nor were any of the other businesses in Knockturn.

Angie, a woman who was likely half-hag, was at least willing to give Draco a few knuts for cleaning her cellar of rats. He couldn't banish them, but he did luckily know that rats couldn't stand the smell of Hangover Potion, a brew he'd included in his satchel. He sprinkled it around the cellar, wrinkling his nose. It wasn't poison, so they would just run to someone else's basement. He almost envied them; rats always seemed to find food and lodging. Draco was especially worried about the former, and he helped himself to a number of carrots that were destined for Angie's foul stew. But lodging wasn't a given, either. Draco may have been traumatised, but he wasn't stupid. He wasn't earning enough to sleep inside every night, so he would have to sacrifice his pride and bed down outdoors. He chose a small triangle-shaped park made by the intersection of alleyways behind Gringotts. He still had enough pride that he didn't want to be seen.

Every morning Draco woke up in time to avoid the goblins. _If only Father could see me now._ Lucius Malfoy hadn't even bothered with a tent when they attended the Quidditch World Cup, preferring to spare the gold for a Portkey every morning and evening. Draco spitefully flicked a leaf from his hair and hoped that somewhere, somehow, his father was appalled.

The next month passed in a rote manner: beg for kitchen and menial work in the seedier parts of Diagon and Knockturn. Swipe or buy some food. If raining, waste a Galleon on the hotel; if not raining, bed down in the park.

Once a week, visit Mother.

Narcissa wasn't sick, but they couldn't put a pregnant woman in Azkaban and the Ministry had locked the Manor up. The prison ward of St Mungo's was mostly reserved for criminals who'd been injured during their arrest, not long-term patients. His mother was obviously bored and lonely. Each time Draco arrived, she was staring out the window morosely.

Today was no exception. The afternoon light fell on her long hair, more golden than his, giving it a soft glow in spite of the fact she could no longer care for it as she used to. He kissed her hand and sat beside her.

"I have two things for you today, Mother." He handed over a light novel and a small box of sweets. He'd missed dinner for several days to afford them.

Narcissa ran her fingers over the embossed logo on the box of chocolates. "I used to send these to you at school."

"Yes, they were appreciated."

"You didn't graduate."

Draco pulled back, a bit offended. "Obviously." Of course he didn't graduate. The school had been half destroyed by the monster that lived in their home. "What brought that up?"

"It's the first week of September."

"I see."

"It was always so hard to send you away." Her hand slowly strayed to her stomach. She wasn't beginning to show yet, of course, but Draco still found himself wondering at the fact there was a tiny person inside there.

_A tiny person that will get everything I was owed._

"How are you faring?" His mother's words cut through his unkind thought, and Draco looked away guiltily.

"The same. Staying in a rooming house, doing odd jobs." He couldn't lie to her, but he could absolutely omit facts that would only upset her. She didn't need to know he was sleeping outdoors half the time.

"There may be more work elsewhere. Perhaps one of your old professors-"

"I need to stay near you," he objected.

_Old professors. Ha. As if any of the people from Hogwarts would lift a finger to help me. I nearly brought that school down from the inside when I was only sixteen! I'm sure they're all glad to be shot of me. And I'm glad to be shot of their self-righteousness as well._

Snape had been the only one of the whole lot that he'd respected. No one else had tried to step in when his life had begun falling apart.

"I can take care of myself. Stop worrying," he added in a sharp tone.

Narcissa pursed her lips. "Don't talk back to me. I'm still your mother, even confined in this room."

"I'm looking after myself. Don't bother with it."

"You should have gone back to school."

"Are you joking right now?" Draco asked with a disbelieving laugh. "What would I do? Clean the floors with Filch? Hogwarts is a school for _magic._ I'm not _magical_ anymore." He stood and pulled on his robes. It was too hot for them, but he didn't have a permanent space to keep his belongings, and had to carry them everywhere he went. His mother reached out for him, but he pulled away. "I can't talk to you when you're like this."

"Like what, Draco?"

" _Hopeful._ There's nothing to be done, Mother. I'll get by until I have to look after the baby, and use the trust after that. With any luck I won't be too shoddy a parent and they give me an allowance after they come of age. You too, when they release you from prison. When you aren't _magical_ , either." She gasped at Draco's harsh tone, then narrowed her eyes.

"You need to learn to depend on yourself. Not me, not whomever this baby grows up to be."

Draco paused at the door. "I should have learned that much earlier," he snapped, and strode away before she could respond.

~~~

Draco felt simply awful for talking to his mother in such a nasty manner, and couldn't bring himself to visit her the next week. On top of that, it rained ceaselessly, and he bled through his Galleons renting a room every night. The depressing weather weighed on everyone, it seemed, and there was no work to be found. Precious Knuts and Sickles were spent on food and water, both for drinking and bathing.

Finally he came skulking back to the hospital, tail between his legs. Narcissa had arched one still-perfect eyebrow, but hadn't taken him to task for his earlier behaviour. She also didn't mention the lack of small gifts, and instead they talked about the novel she'd finished.

On his way out, Draco spied the cart used to bring rations around to patients on the secure wing. Several apples were sitting unattended, and he stealthily pocketed them.

The next week he fared a bit better - it still rained, but there were rats in three different shops seeking refuge from the flooding - yet he spent all his hard-earned Knuts on a number of books for his mother. He still regretted being short with her, and knew she was bored to tears. The ersatz apple cart was in the hall again, and on his departure he snagged a lovely green one.

"Oi!"

So much for being a sneaky Slytherin.

The nurse that opened the wards for Draco during his first visit cornered him. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I was- I just- they're going inside, right? I thought I'd take them to Mother."

"Visiting hours are over."

Draco thought fast. This particular woman was overbearing and gruff, but she had to have gone into Healing because she cared about people in some capacity, right? He put on his best sad little boy look. "I'm hungry."

"It's still stealing." She was reaching for her pocket. Was she summoning a guard? Draco panicked, and now his pathetic expression was real.

"Please don't. Please! I'm on probation. It's just an apple!" She frowned and drew her wand, but rather than calling for help, she cast it over him. A soft light enveloped him for a moment, before turning blue and dissipating.

"You're malnourished," she pronounced. "And you've got a bit of fever. Been tramping around in the weather?"

Draco blinked in shock. "I... I have to keep looking for work. There's not really enough for food."

"Been bringing your mum things, too, haven't you?" She shook her head. "Look, I see why they took your magic away. The world's just been through a bad time. No reason to starve you, though. Come see me next week when you visit your mum." She put her wand away and turned her back on Draco pushing the cart down the hall.

She'd let him keep the apple.

~~~

Autumn was descending with a particularly nasty bite, and Draco was glad to get inside and out of the wind the next week when he came to St. Mungo's. They always began the countdown on his one hour visit as soon he arrived, so he saw his mother first before seeking out the nurse from last week. She was manning the ration cart again.

"Hello. You wanted to see me?" Draco expected she found him pitiful, and was going to distribute more food. Instead she produced a piece of parchment from her voluminous uniform.

"This is my cousin's address. Him and his wife."

Puzzled, Draco took the paper. "I don't understand."

"They own a farm, Craik Farm it's called. It's an orchard. Grow trees for wands, brooms, any sort of magical wood. And apples," she said, with what might have been a wink. "Come autumn, they always need help for the harvest. You can't use spells on the trees or it will upset their natural magic. They had elves working, but they weren't bound to the property, so they've gone."

"Where is it?"

"Craik Forest. Up on the Scottish Border." Draco clutched the paper tighter, causing it to crumple.

"I won't be able to visit my mother from that far. I can't Apparate."

"She'll be just fine with us. You need to be taking care of yourself, now. Make a bit of money, keep yourself through the winter."

It was a job, true. But the thought of being so far away from his mother terrified Draco. "I can't leave her alone like that. I appreciate it, I do..." The prospect of facing the looming winter while barely scraping by _was_ daunting, and Draco immediately doubted his decision.

"I was afraid of that." the nurse shook her head. "Well, it won't give you the opportunity to save like the harvest would, but they also need people to help in the market on weekends. They bring apples down for autumn, trees down for Christmas. Lacey makes cakes and such through the winter months until spring, then it's flowers."

It was a much better option. Still... "Do you really think my face will sell anything?"

"Oh, you'd just be doing the set up and loading, the hard stuff. Can't levitate them apples, takes the tartness right out of them."

It was a good offer. "Thank you - I'm sorry, I didn't get your name."

"It's Cora."

"Why are you helping me, Cora?" Draco asked suddenly. She had eyed him just as suspiciously as every other nurse and Healer on the secure ward; sometimes people shook their heads, or glanced at his left arm before turning quickly away.

"Kills your mother to see you half-starved and dejected. Not much good for the baby, her being in a bad way."

"Right." However she needed to justify her concern for a Death Eater, Draco wasn't going to argue. "Well thank you again, Cora. Just tell me when I need to report to the market."

~~~

Working at the market was actually much like Draco's usual routine. He rose before dawn and avoided being seen by people except the ones he absolutely had to interact with. He presented himself to Lacey, the wife of Cora's cousin Jack, on Saturday morning while the market was setting up. She eyed him with distaste.

"You'll keep out of sight, and out of my way. And for Merlin's sake, don't roll up your sleeves." Draco followed her as she walked him through the market procedure.

"There's a lot of loading and unloading, we use the freight Floo. That'll be most of your job. Jack's up at the farm watching the harvest. We've got some Squibs on for hire, but it costs more to Portkey extra people than to just have one staying here, so you'll work out nicely. My back's not what it used to be and I'm tired of standing all day. We've got a good customer base, and the market is trying these new automated stalls, so just put the goods out in the morning, stock everything up, and count the money at the end of the night and send it along with the receipts through the Floo. Seven days a week the market's going on now. New Ministry small business incentives." She pointed out the freight Floo and the stall. "I'll be down every Saturday to take care of anything that needs a personal touch. Any questions?"

"Are unsold goods Flooed back or stored here?"

"Stored here. Just lock up the stall."

"I can't cast a locking charm." Lacey huffed.

"I'm not stupid. It's a Muggle lock." She handed over the key. "And the receipts are magical, you can't tamper with them, so I'll _know_ if you're stealing. One apple a day is allowed on your break. Otherwise you pay like everyone else."

With what money: that was the most important question of all. "What is the wage you're offering?"

"Nine Galleons a week." Draco quickly did the maths in his head. It was a criminally low wage for hours of work every day. Once it was colder out, that would be seven Galleons a week in rent, and two to live on. If he stuck to bread and water with the occasional vegetable, he could also have some firewood and things like soap. Barely. He wouldn't be buying sweets unless he went without dinner, that was for sure.

He also didn't have a better offer.

"I'll take it. Thank you for hiring me." Draco held out his hand, but Lacey brushed him off.

"Of course you will. Now help me unload all this and I'll show you where it goes. I don't like to repeat myself, so listen close the first time."

Draco bit his tongue. _I'm not an elf_ , he replied in his mind, even as he followed.

~~~

Talking silently to himself soon became the only way Draco kept sane. Day in and day out, the market was the same. He unloaded whatever came through the freight Floo and set it up on the stand. Each stall was warded so that goods couldn't be removed until the proper amount of money was placed in a till box. On weekends the shop owners would come and mingle with customers, handing out samples and the like, but most of them hailed from other towns around Britain and didn't live in Diagon, so the magical stalls allowed them to continue selling even when they were away.

Jack and Lacey's apples and other items from the orchard weren't unique in needing non-magical handling, but the few Squibs and elves who worked for other merchants avoided Draco at the freight Floo. Mostly he sat alone behind a curtain in back of the stall, just in case any customers literally upset the apple cart. Months passed with no appreciable change, except the inclusion of pre-shrunken pine trees at the holidays.

As Christmas drew near, Draco had to forego three meals to buy warm gloves and socks. He was therefore in a particularly foul mood as he listened to all the happy families shopping for presents, buying hot chocolate and laughing.

_I bet every single one of them would sneer at me, or spit at me, if I dared show my face out there. And did any of them actually fight in the war? Or did they have easy choices?_

He was so wrapped up in his own pity and anger that he almost missed the girl's voice as she passed the stall.

"Oh look, Harry! Apples!"

Draco knew that voice. _She-Weasel. Of course. And with Potter._

"We should take some to mum. These are the enchanted kind, they never lose their juiciness even when cooked. She can make us a pie. Would you like that Teddy?"

Whoever Teddy was, he didn't answer. Neither did Potter. Draco couldn't help himself, he gingerly moved the curtain aside a hair and peeked out front.

Potter was standing with the girl Weasel. Unsurprising. What _was_ a surprise was the baby he held in his arms. It had a tiny shock of light blue hair sticking out from under a knit cap, and was wearing a green coat. Draco couldn't tell if it was a girl or a boy - Merlin, he couldn't even tell how old it was. He knew absolutely nothing about babies.

_You'd better learn fast, yeah?_

Potter looked small within the bustling crowd around him. Every other witch or wizard who passed him gawked, but he gamely ignored them. Instead he smiled at the baby he was holding - Teddy, apparently - and adjusted its cap. Draco ticked the months off on his hand; there was no way that baby was Potter and Weasley's, not unless he'd snuck back into Hogwarts sometime before the Battle and no one found out. While that definitely wasn't beyond a reckless, romantic Gryffindor, Draco was pretty sure that Potter had a one track mind in the last days of the war, and risking the Carrows just to fuck Ginny Weasley hadn't been part of his plan.

So. They were playing at happy families with someone else's child. How nice for them. Just lovely.

The pair bought a basket of apples and walked away. Draco looked down and saw that he'd clenched his fists until the knuckles were white.

~~~

As Christmas drew near, Draco skipped meals again to buy his mother a stationery set. She had mentioned wanting to write, but he couldn't imagine who she would send an owl to. The secure ward didn't allow wrapped packages so he simply handed it over.

"Oh, Draco," Narcissa smiled sadly. "You didn't have to bring me anything. I've nothing for you."

"I wanted to, Mother." She leaned over to kiss his cheek, moving a bit awkwardly. At five months pregnant, she was definitely showing.

"Tell me about your week."

"I saw Harry Potter," he blurted out.

"Did you... speak to him?"

"Of course not," Draco scoffed. "He was with his girl Weasley and some child. They bought apples and went away. No one saw me." _No one ever sees me_.

Narcissa idly tapped her fingers on the stationary set. "I thought of asking for his help, once."

That was not a situation Draco could imagine. "During the war? That would have been suicide."

"After," she admitted. "With your trial."

"But... why? He hates me. He wouldn't have cared if I'd been Kissed." A small part of Draco didn't actually believe that to be true. He recalled Potter's hand gripping his own sweaty one, pulling him to safety in the Room of Requirement, his body solid as Draco held on for dear life, barely aware of his own screaming. He could still feel the heat of the fire if he let his thoughts go back there.

Which he would not.

"He owes me," Narcissa said ominously.

Draco was baffled. "You tried to hold him for the Dark Lord. What does he owe you?" If anything, Draco owed _him_ , a repugnant fact he refused to dwell on.

"That's not a story for now." His mother turned her face away, indicating that she was done speaking about it. Draco let the matter drop, fully intending to press the issue another day. How on earth could Harry Potter be indebted to Narcissa Malfoy?

He never got a chance to bring it up, though. As December melted into January, enchanted firewood that burned with various colours and scents became the big seller from the orchard, and Draco found himself chopping it every morning. His hands cracked and bled, and his lips and face grew chapped. Each time he came to visit, his mother stroked his hands and murmured what a shame it was that soft, delicate skin like his should be subjected to such abuse. He burned more energy than he could afford to consume; his clothes hung off his skinny frame. The tears in his mother's eyes haunted him.

He found he had nothing new to report to her, as his days bled together with the mind-numbing regularity of this routine, and he couldn't face her sadness and disappointment. Quietly he asked Cora if she might tell Narcissa that work was too busy to spare Draco that week.

And the next.

And then the next.

~~~

Spring brought flower bouquets through the freight Floo. It also brought the return of Potter.

Potter was browsing the Twinkling Tulips - they sparkled from within - right as the market set up. Draco, having forgotten to put some Singing Daisies out, was rushing to complete his work. In his haste to hide away, he nearly bowled Potter over.

"Malfoy!"

Hearing Potter shout his name brought an unexpected, aching rush of nostalgia. He was _Malfoy_ again, in the hallways of Hogwarts, on the Quidditch pitch. _Malfoy_ , wand at the ready, Potions homework due and Pansy waiting in the common room.

Just as quickly, though, it brought fear. Fear of being seen, of having to explain himself to the one person Draco had no explanations for.

"We aren't open yet!" Draco shouted, pretty much right in Potter's face. "Come back later!" He darted behind the stall, where the curtain covered the tiny back area with a stool and wood stove.

"Malfoy, what the fuck?" Potter yelled after him. "Are you a florist now?" He waited a few moment before calling out again. "Malfoy, where did you go?"

Draco simply stood in back of the stall, eyes closed like a child believing that if he couldn't see Potter, Potter couldn't see him. Eventually Potter gave up and left, but not before Draco heard the tell-tale sound of coins dropping into the till. He looked at the register that automatically updated: Potter had bought three bright blue tulips.

Glancing furtively past the curtain, Draco confirmed that Potter was gone. Why was he out and about so early? Customers usually didn't begin to filter in until the market had been open for ten minutes or more, so maybe he was avoiding the inevitable crowd that he drew. Draco scurried back out front to adjust the Singing Daisies that he'd left askew. Seeing Potter brought up the same miserable feelings as last time, and also reminded him of his mother's cryptic words. _I really should go back to see her_ , he thought guiltily. He'd been skipping weeks since January.

As he turned to hide away once more, he spied a lone tulip on the ground. Potter must have dropped it.

~~~

The flower was paid for already, so Draco took it as good fortune and presented it to his mother.

"A peace offering?" she asked knowingly. Draco flushed.

"I apologise for my unpleasant behaviour over the past few months. Winter has been hard."

Narcissa gestured to the light spilling in the window. "The days are growing longer. Perhaps your good humour will return with the sunshine. You always were a summer child."

Cora had left them alone in the room today. There were several new balls of light hovering near his mother, and she noticed Draco watching them.

"They have new charms on me. Since I'm getting closer to my time."

Come to think of it, she did look tired. "I thought babies took nine months."

"Generally. You were two weeks early, though. I suppose they want to be careful, since I've delivered too soon once before."

"Was I sick because it?"

"Of course not. Two weeks isn't terrible. And... well, the spell that made sure you were a boy also lent you some vitality."

Hesitantly, Draco moved to place his hand on his mother's belly. She had allowed him to do so several times before. "Will this baby be hale as well, then?"

"Most assuredly." She closed her eyes at the feel of Draco's warm palm. _It had better be strong_ , Draco thought. _They used all of Father's life to make it._

"I wish you could feel it," She spoke softly, almost to herself. "His magic."

Draco yanked his hand back in shock. "Is that possible? And- _his?_ You can tell it's a boy?"

She placed her own hand where Draco's had been. "It's true that most children take time to display their magic, but the nature of this spell brings it forth immediately if it is there."

Draco's clever mind worked out why that would be desirable. The kind of people who sacrificed their own fertility or lives - the kind who considered fertility to _equate_ a life in such an exchange - wouldn't want to waste nine months on a Squib. They would want to know as soon as possible whether it was worth bringing the pregnancy to completion. In fact, Draco wouldn't be surprised if the spell had been developed before waning fertility among Pure-bloods had become an issue, and instead was originally used by those who would do anything not to bring a Squib into their line.

In any case, he knew exactly what they would do if magic failed to present.

It was whispered about behind closed doors: babies that were slipped when impure blood was found on one side of the line, like a hidden Squib great-uncle. As a man, he'd never had to put much consideration into such matters. And he knew now first-hand how difficult it was to live without magic in a world that revolved around it. But it couldn't be a pleasant option for someone who actually wanted a child.

_Now I am exactly the thing my ancestors wanted to avoid._

"That spell sounds more barbaric with every new aspect I learn."

"We've both been subjected to strange magic in the past few months." Draco wanted to protest that she'd volunteered while he had not, but bit his tongue. It did bring another question to his mind, however.

"You haven't ever asked me about it. The ritual. I thought you'd wonder." _I thought you'd comfort me in the aftermath,_ he didn't add, and was immediately struck with guilt at the embittered direction his mind had turned.

"I didn't want to make you talk about it."

Fair enough - Draco didn't actually _want_ to describe it..But he had wanted to be cosseted, to be assured everything would be OK - _which it wasn't, and it won't be._ Also, it wasn't like his mother to not seek out all the information she could.

"Aren't you curious? Because it's... they'll do it to you, next." _They'll turn you into a meaningless creature, just like me, and then they'll lock you up._

She turned her face away. "If you feel the need to tell me, I will listen. But knowing won't change anything. And I don't like to think of what they've done to you. I still remember-" Her voice broke, but she continued. "I still remember how you felt inside me. Your magic was sharp, and scintillating. I knew you'd be a powerful wizard one day."

 _Not powerful enough_.

"How is this one's magic?"

"Warmer. Glowing."

Draco hoped his future little brother would be kind and forgiving. It would be a terrible burden, to know you had been born out of a desperate broken man's need to see his line continue, and not out of love.

He tried to recall what his own magic had felt like to him. _Was it sharp? It definitely sparkled. It felt warmer at the Manor._ With a jolt, Draco found that he could not recall the last spell he had cast. All his life defined as a wizard, and he was already losing the memory of a wand in his hand, of the jubilation a successful spellcasting brought. It was at the Manor, wasn't it? It was-

_It was when I cast Imperio at Holkey._

_Merlin, I am everything they said of me. Only good for Dark magic, totally ineffectual without it._

Draco's inner turmoil must have been evident, because Narcissa smoothly moved the conversation onward. "I was worried about you the other day. The paper said a man had a burst of accidental magic in the market, and Stunned three other people who were nearby. Cora checked for me that you weren't one of those brought in. It was kind of her."

"Is that what that was?" There had been some commotion at the other end of the market three days prior. Draco had ignored it; getting involved would go against his desire to go unnoticed.

"According to the _Prophet._ Do you not follow the news anymore?"

"I can't read the _Prophet._ "

"I imagine it's painful."

"No, I mean I'm unable to open it. There's a new bylaw in the Statute of Secrecy that requires all magical publications be charmed to appear blank unless unlocked with a spell." The Squibs who worked at the market had complained loudly about the injustice of it all.

Narcissa frowned. "It's not good to be so isolated, Draco."

"I'm not the one who made these decisions." And it was better, yes? _Better that something like me be hidden away._

"I know, I know. Still," his mother implored, "promise me you'll find _something_ that gives you pleasure. You're so young, you have your whole life ahead of you."

_My whole life?_

Her words triggered something in Draco. He tried to avoid thinking about the past - it was a thicket of anger and regret. He suspected it was the same for nearly anyone who came through the war, on either side. So far he'd been halfway successful -although this conversation wasn't helping. But the _future_ : that loomed before him as a shapeless void, filled with rote tasks, nameless longing, and aching loneliness.

"I- I don't," he stuttered.

"Don't what, darling?"

"I don't have a life ahead of me."

Narcissa raised her head, looking more alert. "Of course you do."

"It's just- just this. Forever. Menial labour, no friends - no _you_ , once they take you to Azkaban - I don't know anything about raising a child, I'll fail at that as well-"

"Draco-"

"-and I'm just- I'm useless now, I'm _worthless_ -"

"Draco!" His mother's voice was sharp, but not raised. He shut up, but the anxiety boiling inside him didn't go away.

"You listen to me," she said firmly. "You aren't worthless. You are doing what you can, the best you can. I'm proud of you."

"Why would you be proud?" he whispered. "I'm a Squib who works with his hands for a living. We've lost everything. Anyone who finds out I can't cast the simplest spell assumes I was so wicked that binding me from performing Dark magic broke me entirely. And the proof is branded on me forever. Merlin knows what that baby will think of me."

She placed a hand on his cheek, gently. "We raised you so selfish, but you still have a sense of duty, and you do still have a heart. Yes, I'm proud of you."

Draco moved further into her touch. As much as he tried to deny it, to stand on his own, he'd always been a gregarious person, and the lack of human contact and interaction was beginning to take its toll. He found that he was a bit excited to meet his new brother: someone who didn't prejudge him, someone he could care for.

_Something to look forward to._

"I promise I'll try to continue living up to that then, Mother."

Of course, 'try' was the operative word.

They spent the rest of Draco's hour simply leaning against one another. When he got up to leave, his mother reached out suddenly for his hand; she held it quietly with her eyes closed and her mouth drawn. At the time it didn't strike Draco as strange - they had been quite tactile that day. The moment was gone as quickly as it came, and Narcissa's smile was back in place as she bid him goodbye. Still, Draco turned once more in the doorway as he was ushered out, taking one last glimpse of his mother.

~~~

It was a day like any other: Draco opened the stall, set up in a rush, and took his place in the small back area. He was halfway through a novel he'd bought for his mother that she'd finished with. It was set in the 1200's; currently, the hero was trying to save his family from a band of witch hunters. It was terribly cliche and terribly written, but Draco found himself immersed in the plot anyway. By early afternoon he was at the climax.

Engrossed in the novel, he was startled by the appearance of an unfamiliar Patronus.

"Malfoy," the otter said with a voice he tried to place. "You are needed at St Mungo's immediately."

_Mother!_

For a moment the practical side of Draco warred with his emotional one. He would certainly get in trouble for leaving the stall unattended; if he closed early Lacey might take the potential lost sales from his pay. It had happened once before, when Draco caught a cold after running out of medicinal potions.

Yet Cora - that had been her voice, hadn't it? He recognised it, and she was the only one at the hospital who would bother to call him - would not have summoned him if it weren't an emergency. He hastily pushed everything inside the stall and locked the gates.

At the hospital, the Welcome Witch tried to protest that Draco had already used up his hour that week, but he blew past her. Two men in the security uniforms from the Department of Mysteries- none of the ones who had been there when they'd taken his magic, thank Merlin - were blocking the entrance to his mother's room, conferring among themselves in hushed tones.

Cora stood nearby; she seemed strangely surprised to see him.

"Where is she? Where is she?!?" Draco grew increasingly frantic as he noticed several more guards further down the hall.

"Mr Malfoy, please calm down."

"Why did you send for me? What has happened to my mother?" One of the guards glanced up at that, and exchanged a knowing look with the other.

Cora stopped him with a firm hand on the shoulder before he could try to muscle his way past.

"Draco! Draco. She's gone. There's nothing you can do for her now."

_Gone?_

"Where did she go?" he asked in a timid voice.

"She's dead, child."

 _I'm not a child_ , he wanted to protest.

Cora continued to speak, her words seeming far away. "The birth was early, and too hard on her. The baby is fine, but she was gone before anyone knew there was a problem. I don't think it would have mattered, though."

That word again. _Gone._ The air around Draco felt thick. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

"Look," Cora continued, "why don't you come sit in the lounge, and someone will come talk to you in a bit."

"When did this happen?" he blurted out, pulling away from her grasp. One of the guards stepped forward, but Cora waved him away before turning back to Draco.

"This morning. Around nine. Just a half hour after she delivered."

Nine o'clock. Draco had just opened the stall then. He'd been sitting behind a cart of flowers and berry tarts, calmly reading a book, while his mother was dying.

"Why didn't- I should have been summoned- I should have been here!" _Maybe it isn't true, maybe they're lying, why would the Department of Mysteries be at a hospital for a woman who died in childbirth?_ "Let me see her," he insisted, brushing past Cora.

"There's nothing to see," one of the blue-coated men rumbled. They loomed over him - and the others were making their way down the hall - oh, Draco needed to NOT be here, to be anywhere BUT here -

A hand gently but firmly clasped around his wrist; dazed,he allowed himself to be led to a small lounge and settled in a chair by himself. As the situation caught up to him, he began to shake.

 _Mother is gone. No, shut up you imbecile, she hasn't 'gone,' she's_ dead _. She's fucking dead. Somewhere down the hall she's lying there but it isn't her it's just like when Father died just like EVERYONE died - !_

The lounge was empty except for three chairs and a table with pamphlets about Dragon Pox. Draco's panicked gasps echoed through the room as he tried to gulp enough air to keep breathing.

_There's something people normally do now, in situations like this. What is it? Funerals. Think back to Grandfather Abraxas' funeral, and get a hold of yourself._

By the time Cora returned he'd managed to compose himself somewhat.

"The people from the Ministry wanted to talk to you, but your mother's solicitor ran them off. Said you already answered questions for the Aurors when your mum was brought in. That woman is fierce."

"She is." Draco wondered how much longer he could count on Ms. Janney's fierceness. "Did my mother make arrangements with her? Leave a will?"

"For what? She didn't have property."

"For... burial. What should I do?" Draco was floundering; without his mother there was no one left to give him guidance. One occasionally sympathetic nurse wasn't quite the same.

"Nothing to be done, not by you at least. Don't need an ID; she died right here. And she was in custody, with no vault and no money, so they'll give her a burial in the public graveyard."

So Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy would not be reunited, even in death.

A month after his father had passed, Draco was informed that he had been buried in the Azkaban graveyard. The family vaults were on the Manor property and legally closed to them, and prison was his destination after all. His mother, it seemed, would be laid to rest in the paupers graves at St. Mungo's.

They didn't need him to identify the body. They didn't need him to handle the funeral. There was only one person that needed Draco now.

"The baby. You said he's fine. Where is he?"

~~~

The nursery at St. Mungo's was nearly empty. Most witches preferred to give birth at home; only the troubled cases came through the hospital.

A warm light pulsed at the very end of a row of cradles. Draco was drawn to it unerringly. He gazed down into the nest of blankets and saw the smallest person he'd ever laid eyes on, bathed in the warm glow. For once during this trying day, he knew exactly what to say. He'd practised the words over and over, rolling them across his tongue at night when he was alone in his spartan room.

"Hello," he whispered. "I'm your brother, Draco. It's nice to finally meet you."

The baby looked up at him, blinking owlishly. Draco reached into the cradle and tenderly smoothed one finger over the wispy blond hair on top of the baby's head.

"Did she name him?"

Cora pursed her lips. "Aye. It's a mouthful." Draco looked at her expectantly, and she sighed. "Julian Antares Malfoy," she reluctantly told him. _"Antares._ Can you imagine. Not that he'll be burdened with all that. I'm sure whoever looks after him won't be keeping the family name, at the least."

Draco stared down at the tiny little boy. _Antares. The heart of Scorpius. Still looking to the heavens, weren't you, Mother._ He didn't miss the nod to his chosen name for a future son.

Suddenly the rest of what the nurse said caught up with him and his head snapped up. "Whomever looks after him? Why- don't you mean me?"

She looked long and hard at Draco, pity finally creeping into her eyes. "Of course not. You're not fit to look after a magical child, are you now? Anyway, the Ministry people have already been by to argue with that solicitor. He's the heir to that fancy house and all that fortune, they can't very well give him to you, can they? You aren't supposed to have any of that."

All of Draco's hopes came crashing down in one fell swoop. The Ministry had seen Narcissa's final act for what it was: an end run around their theft of the Malfoy estate. If Draco was given custody, he'd have access to the trust until the baby - Julian - turned seventeen. He wasn't getting a family. He wasn't getting responsibility. Merlin, he wasn't getting a second chance - and that is what raising his brother would have been. A chance to do something right in the world, something good, something _pure_.

"But I'm his brother," he insisted, cringing at the pathetic tone in his own voice. "His only family."

"He'll be fostered with a new one."

"No! You can't!" Draco gripped the edge of the cradle to stop his knees from buckling under him. He hadn't raised his voice to anyone in months, and it cracked, but he kept yelling. "Don't I have rights?!" Julian picked up on the agitation in the room and started to whimper. Draco instinctively reached down to soothe him.

_No! Not you too, they take everything from me, why you?_

Cora crossed her arms. "You're on probation, aren't you? Your rights are limited."

Draco spoke softer, but with steely anger. "This isn't fair."

"Look," Cora attempted to placate him. "This is better for him. He'll be fostered with a magical family, who can take him out and about without drawing the wrong sort of attention. When he's of age, he'll inherit what was left to him. They'll be told where you are, they may let you stay in contact."

Draco knew there was no way in hell any family that met the Ministry's approval would possibly allow Julian to be raised with input from him. They wouldn't be able to hide who he was, if the papers ever found out - and if the famous Malfoy colouring shone through when he grew up. But they could raise him to fear Draco, to hate him.

They certainly wouldn't raise him as a Malfoy.

"May I have some time with him? Please? I- he's my _brother._ " For a word he'd never had to use before today, he was clinging to that one awfully close.

For a heart-stopping moment, Draco thought she would refuse. But Cora glanced over her shoulder and then back at him, nodding. "Ten minutes. I have work that needs doing. But no longer than that. If they find you just hanging about down here you'll be in trouble."

As soon as she was gone Draco reached down into the cradle. He had no idea how to hold an infant and hoped he didn't do something to hurt Julian. He thought back to Potter and the baby in his arms, but that little boy was older than the not quite one day old creature in front of him. Finally he settled for rocking Julian in his arms, his head supported in the crook of his elbow.

Draco never had any illusions about his own paternal feelings. He'd always believed he'd have an heir, of course, but he didn't think children were particularly adorable or have a special yearning for them. This was different. He wasn't Julian's father. He was simply his blood. He looked into the pale blue eyes of his brother with fascination.

"Look at you. The same two people made us."

With a sickening jolt, Draco knew that he loved his brother already. He loved him simply for existing, for being part of his family, part of Draco himself. There was going to be a hole in Draco's heart forever when he left here. He knew that Julian would never remember this goodbye, but Draco would, so he choked back his tears and spoke honestly.

"I hope you have a good life. Maybe they're right, maybe being away from me is for the best. I haven't amounted to much. But I hope you know somewhere deep inside that I'm thinking of you."

He sniffed, and continued. "Whatever family takes you in had better be kind. Curse them if they aren't. You have my permission. Family means a lot but you need to take care of yourself, as well. If blood runs true you're going to be a very powerful wizard." Julian smiled, but Draco wasn't sure if that meant anything. Maybe all babies smiled.

"Our mother gave up everything for you to be here, so make her proud. She loved you. _I_ love you. Our father- a pox on our father, honestly." Perhaps that was unfair. "I'm sure he would have loved you as well. He loved me in his own way. But it was difficult to meet his expectations. You'll be free of that."

It was becoming hard to see; he needed to wipe his eyes but Draco didn't want to put Julian down quite yet. "I'm not sure what else to say. Er... Don't rely on minions. If you sort Slytherin, learn warming charms early, the dungeons are damp. Seekers get the glory, but go out for Chaser, it's more exciting and you catch less blame. Support the Tutshill Tornados, of course. Pay special attention to stir direction in Potions. Don't get a tattoo. And for Merlin's sake, do _not_ keep peacocks when you inherit the Manor." Draco leaned down and kissed Julian on the forehead. He smelled sweet.

"There is a little secret hiding in the library," he whispered. "I hope you'll find it." He imagined Julian being given the keys to Malfoy Manor on his birthday, seventeen Aprils from now, throwing open the wide double doors and stepping into the dusty entrance hall. Would everything be left as it was? Would he wander into Draco's room and try to puzzle out what kind of person his older brother had been? Would Draco even still be alive then, and if so would Julian try to find him? Unlikely. It was more plausible Julian would sell the Manor without a backward glance, and distance himself from the stain of his ancestors. But maybe he would be as naturally curious as Draco had always been.

"Whatever you choose to do, please be happy. That's all I ever wanted, after all. Don't let yourself be lonely."

There was a click as the door to the nursery opened and Cora returned. She saw how tightly Draco clung to Julian and clucked her tongue.

"It's time, young man."

"No!" Draco gulped down a sob. "You can't make me, I'll- I'll protest, there has to be some legal channel, this is _wrong..."_ Cora's face remained impassive as she gestured to the cradle.

"Be a good boy, don't upset him. You know that it's over."

Over. Everything kept being 'over.' His magic was over, his mother was over, his responsibility to his brother was over.

Draco felt like his life was over.

Gently Draco lowered Julian back down into the cradle and tucked him in. "I love you," he said thickly, not caring if Cora heard the devastation in his voice. "I will _always_ love you." He touched Julian's hand, and for one second the tiny fingers seemed to grasp Draco's finger, but it was only a reflex. Gray eyes met bright blue for one achingly long moment. Then Julian yawned and closed his eyes and the connection was broken - just like Draco's heart.

He allowed himself one last glance back in the nursery before Cora shut the door. The little placard on the end of the cradle simply said "Julian." Already they'd erased his father's line; they'd taken the Black astral naming tradition as well.

And who was _he_ now, he wondered as he made his way down the hall. Draco Lucius Malfoy. Why bother with Lucius? He'd killed their legacy as surely as he'd killed himself. Why bother with Malfoy? It was a dead end. A centuries-long slow death of a line doomed to fail. Julian could take the estate if he wanted, rechristen it with the surname of whomever raised him. Become his own man.

Cora stopped before they reached the outermost waiting room. "Suppose I won't be seeing you around here anymore. If you'd like, there's still work up at the orchard, far as I know. Might do you some good to get away from all this."

Draco dabbed the last bit of wetness from his face and watched her curiously. "I can't tell if you care what happens to me or not. One minute you're finding me work and the next you don't even blink while my world falls apart." She shrugged nonchalantly.

"I think everyone should have the right to work for a living. And you and your mother were right pitiful. But it's hard, you know, knowing what she did, and what you did, and what you've got there under your sleeve." She gestured at Draco's left arm. "If you didn't go to prison there must be a reason. But I reckon it's best for everyone if people like you start over elsewhere."

Draco couldn't argue with her logic. "Perhaps you're right. I'll likely take that work offer. You'll forgive me, however, if I can't find it in me to thank you, considering what's just happened." Nodding curtly, Cora turned on her heel and melted back into the hustle and bustle of St. Mungo's.

As Draco made his way through the waiting room to the exit, he spied a recent _Daily Prophet_ among the publications on the centre table. Potter's face looked out from the front page. It was some piffle about the start of his Auror training - of course they had accepted the prat without NEWTS. He didn't look pleased to have his picture taken, blinking in the flashbulbs and rubbing at his eyes. Draco was thrown back to the instant that Potter's swollen face was before him.

_I should have turned him in._

The monstrous thought was gone just as quickly as it came. Draco knew what the Dark Lord had been, and what would have become of him if his side was victorious. Wanton cruelty and murder were not in Draco's nature. He was selfish, and petty, but he wasn't evil, no matter what people presumed.

 _No, what's done is done._ As much as Draco believed in self-preservation, he could not deny that a world under Voldemort was not a world he wanted to see.

Beyond the doors of St. Mungo's the outside world beckoned. Cora was right. People like Draco didn't have any business in society. He left Potter and the _Prophet_ behind and made for the exit. The same Welcome Witch was still on duty and she flagged him down.

"You can't just come and go as you please! You need to sign in on the register."

"I'm leaving. There's no need to sign in."

"Well, sign out then," she sputtered. Draco bent down stiffly and signed his name with a biting flourish. Her voice called after him as he strode away. "Your full name!"

"That is my full name," he threw over his shoulder. Politeness no longer mattered. He hoped he never had to return here.

Huffing in annoyance, the Welcome Witch looked down at the sign in sheet and _tsked_.

"Draco."

~~~

Lacey had let out a very put-upon sigh on Saturday when Draco asked if he could work at the orchard full time.

"Have to get a local for the stall, then. Still, we've had trouble keeping people year-round up in Craik, so we might as well take you. I'll have a Portkey here for you Monday. You won't be getting paid for yesterday, by the way, what with the way you took off like that."

"My mother..." Draco began, but the protest died in his throat. She knew, she just didn't care. Sure enough, on Monday there was a wooden spoon included with the freight Floo shipment. An elf, likely from one of the temp agencies that had sprung up in the wake of the war, took over the stall for Draco and he waited for the spoon to activate.

The Portkey was the first bit of true magic Draco had felt in months. Normally, he hated the nauseous pull at the centre of his being, the chaotic feel of being spat out far from home. Now he wished it hadn't been over so fast.

A scowling young woman met him at the designated point. "You can follow me up to the house. Jack and Lacey will get you set."

Draco scrambled to follow her. "Do you work here? I'm Dra-"

"I know who you are. You're taking over for me. I've got a better job waiting in Edinburgh. I'll be gone by tomorrow, so stay outta my way and I'll stay outta yours." She marched away toward the low stone house. When they reached it she disappeared within, but a burly, bearded man met Draco at the door and blocked his way.

"So you're that convict boy my cousin's so soft on." Draco certainly wouldn't have called Cora's attitude towards him _soft_ , but he nodded and held out his hand, only half-sure the man would take it. After he considered Draco, he did, and shook it firmly.

"We'll set you up in a little cabin round the way. Follow me and I'll show you the lay of the land."

Craik Forest was just over the Scottish side of the border, but no one here had an accent. Draco couldn't help but wonder where the family had come from - were they Pure-blood? Half-blood? Certainly they weren't Muggleborns, to own such vast acreage of magical land. Lacey had never given him her surname, and "Craik Farm" was uninformative, as well as supremely unimaginative.

The farm consisted of two separate tracts of forest - the apple orchard with the crisp, enchanted apples, and the section of trees that were harvested for wands or brooms. Several other planted areas contained berry bushes, flower beds, and pumpkin patches, and there was one small herd of sheep. Draco followed Jack up and down the paths, breathing in the crisp fresh air, suddenly glad he was free of Diagon's stifling atmosphere. Jack even allowed him to pick two apples.

"The Muggle Repelling Charms extend all the way around Byehass Fell. You'll feel where they end. We fetch water from the Hedley Burn. From time to time we take the sheep to graze over at Thorny Cleuch, but that's right at the edge of the charms, so watch out. Closest Muggle settlement is Teviothead." Jack peered at Draco sideways, as if he expected him to made some comment on Muggles. "The Squibs we hire tend to do their shopping over there."

They arrived at a small cabin; the door creaked open on rusty hinges. "No one has lived in here for a while. That Squib girl Mary just stayed in the guest room of the house." Of course he was unwelcome in their home. Draco was still a pariah, even in the middle of nowhere.

"You can fix it up how you like. Needs a good sweeping out, but every things in here. Bed, stove, table. Outhouse is around back. The trees right south of here are just plain old pine, you can cut them for a fire. Oh, and there's a well."

Draco surveyed the interior, quickly taking inventory in his head. "May I place orders for food with you and have it brought at the same time as any goods your family has shipped here?"

"Shouldn't be a problem long as you pay."

"Thank you. I'll need matches in the order as well."

Jack scratched his head. "Matches? What's wrong with _Incendio_? Or a Warming Charm?"

"I can't cast those. And I don't have a wand, regardless."

"You can't cast _anything_? Even on yourself?" Draco nodded glumly. "Blimey. Lacey didn't tell me that much. Is it that thing on your arm?" He glanced down at Draco's left arm with unbridled curiosity.

"They bound my magic," Draco simply answered.

"Let me see it," Jack abruptly demanded. Draco flinched. No one had ever asked him that; Lacey had in fact warned him never to show her. He didn't want to see it himself, but the hard look in Jack' eyes made him feel refusal wasn't an option. With shaking fingers he unbuttoned his cuff and rolled up his sleeve.

Jack's small eyes zeroed in on the Dark Mark, and he reached out to grasp Draco's wrist, pulling him in. "Bloody hell, look at that. It's like it's... eating it." His grip tightened to the point of pain as he turned Draco's arm this way and that, twisting the skin until the snake almost writhed. "I'd never seen one. I always wondered." He dropped Draco's arm, leaving a small red mark where his thumb had dug into the skin to complement the black ink.

"If you ever go into town, I wouldn't show that around the Muggles, if I were you. They'll think you're a delinquent. Though I suppose you are," he chuckled at his own joke. Draco didn't answer as he quickly rolled his sleeve back down.

"Honestly, that's about it," Jack said, gesturing around the cabin. "We'll give you today to get settled in and start you bright and early learning how everything works. The pay is the same-" and Draco was taken aback, that couldn't be right, "-but there's no rent on the cabin." Ah, that made sense. No more Galleons wasted on a hard bed and scratchy blanket. Draco would be able to afford to eat _properly_ now, and buy sundries, and maybe even save enough to buy a down duvet for the winter.

Jack left him alone and Draco leaned back against the now closed door, exhausted. His life seemed to happen in spurts. Waiting to be sentenced, then a whirlwind of activity. Working and waiting for his mother to deliver, then her sudden death, the loss of his brother and the uprooting of his entire life.

 _Maybe this is for the best_ , he thought. _I'll work hard and be alone. Everyone hates me, anyway._

He pushed off the door and wandered around the limited space of the cabin. There was a kettle and a pot on the stove; as soon as he obtained matches he would finally be able to have a proper cup of tea again. His mouth watered just thinking about it. He unpacked his luggage, placing his limited amount of clothing on the shelf beside the bed and the picture of himself and his parents on the table. The last two potions he'd been saving - one for headaches, the other a bruise salve - he set on the washstand. A mirror hung above the basin; there hadn't been one in his little rented room in Diagon, and it had been some time since he'd taken a good look at himself.

The man that stared back at Draco with sunken grey eyes was a stranger. He cringed at the dark circles, the sallow skin. He was too thin, and too tired - a far cry from what he felt was a previously attractive face. Then again, he hadn't looked his best since he was fifteen. His hair had never recovered from the butcher job he'd given himself, and had grown back in choppy lengths, with some strands reaching his chin. He marvelled that his mother had never mentioned it. _She was being kind_ , he realised, and blinked away the tears that threatened to fall as he thought of his mother.

It was no wonder people had shied away from him, the few times he went out in public, looking the way he did.

_I don't blame them. I hate myself, too._

He pulled the mirror off the wall and hid it underneath the bed.

~~~

_Draco blinked in surprise at his reflection. He was in the portrait gallery of the Manor, in front of an ornate mirror. He didn't look nearly as terrible as he had last night._

_As he turned his head this way and that, admiring the angled planes of his face, a figure approached from the darkness behind him. It was his father. "Son," he whispered. "You're nearly a man."_

_"I'm almost nineteen, Father," Draco replied, meeting his eyes in the mirror over his shoulder. Lucius nodded._

_"But you still have some way to go before you can follow in my footsteps." He placed a hand on Draco's shoulder, and Draco realised with horror that it was skeletal. He whirled around. Lucius was gone, but his mother stood at the end of the hallway._

_"Come, Draco," she ordered. She was wearing the dressing gown he had discovered her in on that horrible night of the ritual. In her arms was Julian, swaddled in a black blanket. As he drew closer, he saw they were Death Eater robes._

_"Mother, give him to me. Let me hold him." Her expression was vacant and her skin blue and mottled. As Draco reached out toward them, the skin began to peel and fall away from his arms, and he screamed._

"AHHH!" Draco sat up, panting and dripping with sweat, and threw the covers off himself as he sprang from his new bed. The images of his dead parents swam behind his eyes, and he fell to his knees. He tried to hold it in, he really did, but it was no use - Draco retched and vomited up bits of the two apples he'd eaten for dinner.

 _They're gone, they're_ really _gone._ All alone out in the forest, away from the bustle of London and the comfort provided by visiting his mother, the full force of his loneliness finally hit him. Despairing, he pulled his knees up and clutched them, rocking back and forth.

"I want my mother," he sobbed into the darkness. "Why did you leave me? Why did you leave _us?_ " Draco would miss her, but Julian would never know her, and Draco wouldn't be there to tell him about her. _I left him there,_ he recalled guilty. _They didn't give me a choice, but maybe I could have fought harder, begged more, done something!_

"I'm sorry, mummy," he cried piteously, using a name he hadn't called Narcissa since he was maybe three years old. "I'm sorry, Julian."

The puddle of half-digested apples taunted him, and Draco knew he would have to fetch water from the well and clean it the Muggle way. _This is it_ , he swore to himself as his tears fell freely. _I'm going to have one good cry, and then I'm going to forget all about them. I'm all alone and no one is going to help me. It's no way to live, always grieving the past, always worried about a brother I'll never see again._ _I can't function like this._

_Even if I deserve it._

Draco woke again with the sun, and pulled a bucket of water from the well. After he cleaned the cabin, he stared at the photo of himself and his parents for some time.

 _I wonder if Julian will look like Father when he grows up, the way I do? Will he ask about us? Read our history in a book? I hope he doesn't allow our sins to weigh too heavily on his mind._ Softly Draco traced over his mother's hair as her photo-counterpart looked down at his younger self and smiled briefly. Little Draco and Lucius were both trying to appear as serious as possible.

"Goodbye," Draco whispered, the word echoing with finality. He put the photo underneath the bed with the mirror. He then went up to the farmhouse to begin the rest of his life.

 _I am nothing_ , he told himself. _I have no one but myself. Wailing about it won't change things._

~~~

The work he learned about that day was hard, gruelling even, but it took his mind off his grief. There were seasons and harvests, and the dictates of nature that didn't bow to anyone, and Draco found it strangely comforting. Jack and Lacey were cold towards him, but not cruel - at least not after the Dark Mark incident. They gave him some bread, milk, and fruit before his first week's pay could come in. Mary the Squib had left a few odds and ends, including a matchbook and some candles, and that night before bed Draco lit the stove and enjoyed his first proper cuppa in months.

"Two-thirds tea, one third milk," Draco hummed to himself, sitting at his tiny table. "Perfect." _Talking to yourself is a sign of insanity,_ he mused, but if he didn't talk to himself, he wouldn't get a chance to talk at all.

"Tomorrow is another day," he announced to the empty room as he climbed into bed and blew out the tallow candle.

And it was. Another day, another week, another month.

Another year.

Until spring arrived once more, and with it a knock on the door. Sundays were a half day, and Draco had already completed his work, so he had no clue who was interrupting his 'relax with a novel and drink tea' personal time.

He certainly didn't expect to see Harry Potter standing on his doorstep.

"Hey, Malfoy." Draco was too startled to reply. Potter nervously kicked at the low step up into the cabin, and Draco came to his senses enough to speak the first thing that came to his mind.

"Not anymore."


	4. Ornamental Trees - Their Variation in Degree and Kind - Ash-Tree - Scotch-Fir - Hawthorn

_One year later_

In some respects, the cabin had become home to Draco in a way the Manor never had. It was set up in a fashion that made sense to him: shelves for his work clothes and sleeping shirts; space on the counter for matches, spices and tea; odds and ends he had picked up within the past year on the table and elsewhere. He felt _comfortable_ there, and it was all his own doing.

And here was Potter, ready to fuck it up.

He rolled his eyes at Draco's statement. "Whatever that means. You're still Malfoy to me." Potter glared at him pointedly. "Are you going to invite me in?"

"To my home? No. Why would I?" Draco still couldn't get over the fact that Potter was standing before him.  

_Right, the rest of the world still exists._

"Because I need to talk to you. We can be awkward and stand here all day or we can sit down." Even when appearing unwelcome out of nowhere, Potter had a way about him that brooked no argument, and Draco stood aside wordlessly. Still, he smirked when Potter noticed there was only one chair. "Or I can stand," he added wearily.

"Oh, no Potter. You're the guest. _You_ take the chair." Draco elected to lean against the stove, arms crossed. He'd be damned if he made this encounter easy.

"Is this where you've been hiding, Malfoy?" Potter asked as his eyes swept over the cramped interior, before he flung himself down in the single chair with a sigh. The sight of him in the cabin set Draco's teeth on edge. Potter was an invasive species, like the knotweed that grew in the birch stand.  

"I haven't been _hiding,_ " Draco snapped. "I work here. I live here."

"Last time I saw you, you were selling flowers."

"Well, now I tend to them before they go out for sale. Would you like some more Twinkling Tulips? They aren't in season yet."

"Aw, you remember what I bought?" Draco blushed furiously. "Seriously, Malfoy, what are you doing here?" Potter was still inspecting his surroundings. Leave it him to come all the way out to Craik just to judge Draco.

"There was nothing left for me in London. Or Wiltshire, or anywhere else."

Potter focused on him angrily. "Are you kidding me? _Nothing?_ "

"Yes, nothing! A city full of people there who hate me, or a couple of people here who tolerate me. Not much of a choice. Who else would care?" _And why do you?_

"Oh, I dunno," Potter said sarcastically. "Maybe your brother."

Draco's world ground to a halt.

"What," he hissed, "do you know about Julian?"

"I know everything about him," Potter stated flatly. "I've been raising him."

~~~

Draco had been mostly successful at putting his parents in the back of his mind, locked away. Julian, however, still haunted him sometimes, especially late at night when there wasn't much else to do out in the woods but think.

 _When will you learn to walk? To talk? I wonder what your first words will be. Your first display of magic. Do your new parents love you?_ That was the question that kept Draco awake. He only indulged his worry occasionally, lest it drag him down.  

Yet Julian, it seemed, hadn't received new parents. He'd been given to Potter.

But how?

As Potter related the tale, Draco wandered around his home and made a show of tidying up. It soothed him, touching the things he owned, the things that grounded him.

"I got an owl from St. Mungo's the day Narcissa died. It didn't say what happened, just to come immediately. There was this woman when I arrived, her solicitor-"

"Ms. Janney." Draco stroked a glittering stone he'd found in the river and placed beside his matchbooks. Ms. Janney was a relic from a painful past.

"Yeah, her. She told me what happened, who Julian was and that you couldn't take him. She was really insistent that I accept custody. Your mother wrote me that letter-"

"What letter?"

"That letter telling me I owed her and I had to protect him. You didn't know?"

"Absolutely not." _I never found out what she owed Potter. I thought we'd have more time, that I could ask her later._

Potter appeared nervous. "So you don't know she called in a life-debt."

Even more confusing. "I can't fathom what life-debt you could owe my mother." _Unless it's for causing us to lose everything by winning the war, but we know what the alternative was._

"Er, it doesn't really matter. But that lawyer kept after me, wouldn't let up about how Julian would end up in an orphanage if I didn't take him, and... I've seen an orphanage. They aren't nice places. Then I told her to find some loophole or legal way you could have him but she said that wasn't possible, and that if I cared that much, I could sign the papers and take Julian and share him with you. But honestly Malfoy, I couldn't imagine sharing a cup of tea with you, much less a baby. "

Draco couldn't imagine sharing his precious tea, either. But Julian? "He isn't a _thing_ to be shared. He's not a... a toy, or a book, or even tea. He's a person, Potter."

Elbows on the table, Potter closed his eyes and massaged his temples like he was warding off a headache. "I know. I know that! I almost didn't agree, even if it meant he'd be sent to a home. I couldn't imagine that kind of responsibility."

"So why _did_ you accept?"

"Because - he didn't have anyone else. I know what that's like."

"He had-!" Draco clenched his fists and fell silent. Because Julian _hadn't_ had him. That was the problem.

Harry narrowed his eyes, knowing what Draco had been about to say. "He didn't have you, Malfoy. You abandoned him."

"I didn't! They wouldn't _let_ me take him! Said it wasn't my right." All the guilt Draco felt the day he'd walked out of St. Mungo's without Julian in his arms came rushing back, but he'd was damned if he was going to show that to Potter. "They didn't tell me where he was going. And you may have noticed, Potter, but I don't have a way to get back to London right now, much less convince anyone in that godforsaken place to allow me any contact."

Potter flushed and turned away. "The Healers told me you left him there willingly. I remembered how concerned you were for your family during the war, so I didn't believe them at first. Then when Ms. Janney told me you weren't allowed to have custody because of the Manor, I just... I guess I thought you were mad about that or something."

"So you walked off with him and didn't bother to tell me where he'd gone."

"I didn't know where _you'd_ gone. I didn't think you'd run so far! You've always been... I dunno, creeping around the edges. I figured you'd pop up eventually, demanding I give Julian back."

"And would you have?" Draco wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer, to hear that he'd wasted all this time.

"Honestly, no. I mean, I'm not allowed to just, you know, hand him off to you. Legally. And I was pretty pissed off at you still, Malfoy. It hadn't even been a year since the war ended."

"And that justifies you stealing my brother." Draco was glad that Potter was sitting; it was easier to loom over him that way.

"I didn't _steal_ him! Your fucking mother -"

"Don't you _dare_ speak ill of my mother!"

"Stop interrupting me!" Potter jumped to his feet and stared Draco in the eye. "She put me in an impossible position, Malfoy. What do you think I should have done?"

"I..." Draco was finding it hard to breathe. He hadn't been so close to another person in months, and the information Potter was giving him was overwhelming. He backed up against the closed door, hand on the knob, ready to bolt.

 _For Merlin's sake, get a hold of yourself._ Surprisingly, Potter noticed his distress and backed up a little bit.

"Malfoy. I didn't come up here to fight."

"That's probably a lot to ask, considering who we are," Draco said faintly. Still, he let go of the doorknob. "Why did you come up here, then, if not to berate me?"

"I finally found out where you were a month ago. I didn't really want to see you, but..." Potter reached into his back pocket, and for a terrifying moment Draco thought he was going to pull a wand on him. Instead he pulled out a folded piece of paper.

It was a photograph.

"Here," Potter stated firmly, handing it over to Draco. It took him a moment, but eventually he put out a shaking hand to accept the photo. A smiling blond baby, apple-cheeked and plump, put his hands out towards an unseen person to his left. After a moment, a hand reached into the frame and offered a stuffed cloth dragon. The baby put the tail in his mouth and continued to grin around it.

Draco couldn't contain the sob that welled up in his throat. "Oh!" One hand flew to his mouth; the other tightened on the photo until the corner creased. "Oh," he said in a softer voice. "He looks so happy."

_Oh, darling, look at you. Do you always smile like that? Does your little stuffed friend have a name? Is it your favourite toy, do you have many others?_

Draco smiled as well, mirroring his little brother, and Potter cleared his throat awkwardly.

"You really love him, don't you?"

Draco sniffed, offended. "Of course I love him, you dim-witted sod. You may think me incapable of the emotion-"

"I don't!"

"-but I assure you I can."

_I've been suppressing it, but I'm capable._

"It's just, you don't know him. I wasn't even sure if you'd seen him before you left."

It had been years since they'd verbally sparred, but Draco still knew how to find a weak spot and dig in. "You didn't know your parents, either. I'd wager you still love them." Sure enough, Potter's sharp green eyes grew flinty; childishly, he snatched the photo back from Draco.

"Look, Malfoy, I came all the way up here to talk to you."

"And I'm sure I'm _grateful,_ " Draco spat. "Thank you for taunting me, Potter. Thank you for showing me what I can never have." He reached back out, fully prepared to tussle. "Leave that with me. I deserve that much."

"You can have it!"

"Then give it back!" He grasped Potter's wrist and yanked at him. Fuck, he always brought out the worst in Draco, didn't he?

Potter resisted, shoving back at Draco until they were at a standstill. "Damn it Malfoy, stop! I meant you can see him!"

Draco halted, hand still tight around Potter's arm. "Do you _really_ mean that?" he asked breathlessly.

"Now, look." Potter spoke, carefully extricating himself from Draco's grip and backing away. "I don't want to upset him. We can't fight like this if I bring him up."

"Yes. Of course." Draco nodded vigorously. "I'll behave, Potter. I promise." Part of Draco cringed at his obsequiousness, but seeing Julian was more important. _If Potter needs to feel like he defeated me, fine. The whole world has defeated me already, including him._

Sure enough, Potter relaxed a fraction. "OK then. It's not good to Apparate with small children, and Jules hates the Floo, so-"

"I'm sorry, _Jules?!_ "

"- _so_ we'll have to take a Portkey. I'll need to arrange one."

"Fine." Draco was at once both excited and apprehensive. He was going to see his brother again! But what if Potter changed his mind?

"Swear it," Draco abruptly uttered. "Swear you'll bring him to see me."

"I swear, Malfoy." Potter's face held a mixture of pity and resignation. "I do think we need to talk more, first."

Draco waved a hand dismissively. "Whatever you need to reassure yourself I'm not a danger."

"It's not _that,_ it's just... things have been weird. Since you left."

"Weird how?" Weird with Potter? Weird with the world at large? Sometimes Draco heard things, when he went up to the farmhouse to collect his orders. Not everything had settled back into place after the war.

Potter seemed twitchy, and kept glancing toward the door. "Never mind. Look, I didn't mean to be gone so long. Can I come back tomorrow, or the day after?"

"Not unless it's late. I work sunrise to sunset six days a week."

"Oh." That obviously surprised him. So he couldn't imagine Draco working for a living?

"I tell you what, Potter, if you're willing to follow me around, you can chat at me while I go about my day."

"Yeah, maybe." He pulled a hand through his messy hair. Potter hadn't changed much, but Draco could see the hint of dark circles under his eyes. "I'll owl you before I come up."

"How polite."

Potter rolled his eyes. "Don't make me regret this, Malfoy." He bustled past Draco and through the door without another word.

As soon as he heard the crack of Apparation outside, Draco exhaled heavily and collapsed across his bed, the down comforter he had purchased at the beginning of winter puffing up beneath him. He lay there staring at the ceiling, practically vibrating with anticipation. Potter had left him with more questions than answers, but...

_Julian._

He was going to see Julian again!

~~~

The next day Draco was tending to the stand of small oak trees, pruning them in preparation for the wand-wood harvest, when a tawny brown owl swooped down.

 _Malfoy, I'll see you later today,_ the note had simply declared; there was no exact time given, but Draco wasn't going to wait around. "He always managed to find me in school," he said to himself with a snort. It had driven Draco mental - how had Potter always known when to pop up during that fateful year, their last together at Hogwarts?

Then again, he hadn't known where Draco had gone _this_ time.

A thousand questions about Potter and what he'd been doing swirled in Draco's mind, but one stood out: _exactly how much does Potter know about what has been done to me?_

True to their word, the Ministry had never revealed exactly what the Unspeakables did to him on that fateful day. Oh, they'd made sure to publicise the fact that he was effectively neutered. Once he'd spotted an old copy of the _Prophet,_ up at the farmhouse when he was fetching supplies. Lacey must have kept it around for some reason, either to reassure herself that Draco wasn't a danger, or to show anyone else who came to visit. He'd been front page news.

_Dolohov receives Dementor's Kiss - Malfoy heir bound from performing Dark Arts - Ministry assures public that Death Eater threat at an end!_

Really, they could use a more concise editor.

But the fact remained that outside of a select few in the Department of Mysteries, most people were under the impression that Draco had undergone a Dark magic binding. It wasn't an unknown ritual, but it was a difficult and rarely performed one, generally reserved for dangerous criminals who were considered an escape risk. Draco suspected that Grindelwald had been subjected to the very thing. Having your magic entirely stripped away - that was terrifying and new, and it was obvious why the Ministry didn't want the public to find out.

Draco had kept his interactions limited during those months in London, but occasionally people had found out he was unable to cast spells at all. Cora knew, and Jack and Lacey, and a few proprietors of shops or restaurants that Draco had begged for work before being hired at the market stand. They all assumed the same thing: that Draco Malfoy had been so purely evil that binding him from performing the Dark Arts had nullified his magic completely.

Anger welled up, anger that Draco thought he was getting past, and he caught himself before he hacked too hard at a branch. "Sorry," he muttered to the tree.

It stung, right up to this day, that some people thought Draco was without a drop of good within him. That the Mark on his arm still worked its sick magic on his body and soul. And he was unable to disabuse them of the notion, lest he be thrown in Azkaban.

But Potter wasn't most people. Potter was different; he had a hand in most of the consequential events of the past few years. He _always_ seemed to know more than he should, and he had friends in the Ministry now - including Shacklebolt, the interim Minister of Magic himself, at least until elections. It stood to reason that Potter would be aware of the true nature of the ritual, of Draco's complete loss of magic.

"Do you think he'll be polite, and not mention it?" Draco asked the oak. "Or will he throw it in my face? That's more likely. We were never able to hold our tongues around one another." He finished pruning that one and moved to the next. "Perhaps you'll have better advice for me."

"Who are you talking to?"

Speak of the devil.

"A better conversationalist than you, most likely," Draco said, placing the pruning shears down on the ground and picking up his water flask. The days were growing warmer, and he came to the bottom before he'd fully quenched his thirst. He noticed Potter's eyes rake over him, taking in the sturdy work boots, rugged trousers, and plain shirt that made up Draco's work ensemble; no doubt he found it amusing to see Draco in anything but the tailored robes of his youth.

"There's no need to be rude, Malfoy. We're meant to be talking things out, remember?"

Irritatingly, Potter was right. "Fine. I'll behave. I need to visit the well nearby and fill my flask again." Potter looked at him in confusion, and then glanced around at the ground beneath the trees and, strangely, at Draco's waist, before pulling his wand. It was the same wand Draco remembered him using in school.

"It's fine, I've got it. _Aguamenti!_ " Draco's flask was immediately filled with cold water.

"Watch that thing! Don't cast at the trees, you'll get me in trouble. And I'd rather not bring attention to us - I didn't bother asking if you could visit."

"It's just water, it won't hurt a tree."

"Do you even know what we do up here?" Potter gestured in the negative. "These trees are for wand-wood. They can't have spells cast on them. No magic at all, in fact, except for their own - not until they are being shaped around a core."

"Oh." Potter looked impressed. "I've never actually thought about where the wood comes from for wands."

"I'm not surprised, why would you think?" _Shut up, you idiot!_ Merlin, it was like a reflex, wasn't it? Potter opened his mouth to retort, and Draco cut him off.

"I know, I know. I'll be civil. Thank you for the water." It grated on Draco to thank him, but there was too much at stake here. After a year of not hoping, of not allowing himself to dwell on the past, the temptation to see his little brother had become overwhelming almost overnight. Potter had dangled the possibility in front of Draco, and he was not going to give up without a fight.

_Even if I have to fight myself._

After drinking his fill, Draco set the flask down and returned to his pruning work, climbing a low ladder that was set against one of the oaks. "Well, Potter, where shall we start?" he asked over his shoulder.

"How do you mean?" Potter simply stood there, fidgeting.

"I assume you have questions for me."

"Oh. I mean, I thought you'd have more, about Jules and how he's doing."

There it was again. "You call him _Jules._ "

"It's just a nickname."

"...do I have to as well?"

"Er, no, not unless you want to."

"Does he know his name?" Draco had no concept of how fast babies developed. Potter chuckled at the question.

"Yeah, he responds to it. He's almost a year old now, after all. Doesn't say much yet, just 'Ha' or 'Har' for me, 'Nee' is Hermione. Oh, and 'up,' or 'p-p-p-,' really. He likes to be carried around."

Draco would carry him everywhere, then.

"He looked healthy in the photograph. Round, in that baby way. He hasn't had any physical issues, has he?"

"No, he never gets sick. And eats like a champ," Potter smiled, obviously proud. "Although that's really-" He quieted for a moment. "That's really Molly's doing," he finished.

"Molly?"

"Mrs. Weasley."

Draco missed the branch he was aiming for, and the shears snapped shut with a _snick._ Of course it would stand to reason that Julian would be raised around Weasleys; Potter was close to them, after all. But the thought of another mother taking care of Julian, one who wasn't Draco's mother - well, that smarted. Potter noticed his distress and promptly took it the wrong way.

"I don't want to hear any of your shit, Malfoy. The Weasleys are good people." There was something strange in Potter's voice, something other than defensiveness. It almost sounded bitter, but that couldn't be right.

"I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking it."

"Don't presume to know my thoughts." He clipped the branch correctly, and a tiny fizzle of magic popped from a bud on the end. Draco closed his eyes as it danced across his skin, enjoying the way it felt.

_It's the little things._

Jumping down from the ladder, he placed the shears back in their case. "You must have a lot of help, then." He picked up a bucket of fertiliser and mulch. It was heavy, but Draco had built muscle over the past year; his arms strained as he lifted it, biceps twitching under his long-sleeved work shirt. He didn't miss Potter's glance. _Yes, I look like a common labourer now. I'm sure you think that's karma._

Potter blinked, and returned to the question. "I have some help. I haven't gone into Auror training yet, though, so it's not like I have much else to do."

"And when does that start?" _Will I be able to continue seeing Julian when it does?_

"Er, when I feel like it. Apparently. Robards told me they'll take me whenever." Instead of looking smug, Potter seemed abashed at the idea the Ministry would bend over backwards for him.

"I suppose the Weasleys will look after Julian full-time, then."

"Maybe," Potter said doubtfully. This was like pulling teeth. Draco needed to be more direct.

"Potter, stop dragging this out. Where do you live, who is watching my brother while you're here? Weaselette?"

Potter laughed sharply. "Ginny? Absolutely not. She's-" He stopped and gestured to the bucket. "Do you want help with that? You really can't levitate it even, near the trees?"

 _I can't levitate anything, and you_ must _fucking know that._ "No," Draco ground out. "No magic, Potter. Keep your wand stowed and answer my questions."

"Ugh." Potter sank down under one of the leafier oaks and picked at the grass. "I don't live anywhere, really. I stay with the Weasleys a lot, but it's not _my_ home. Sirius left me Grimmauld Place, but it's... hard to be there. I used to stay with Andromeda sometimes, too, but..." So many 'buts.' Potter had an excuse for everything

"That can't be good, for Julian to not have a solid home. Does he even have his own room?"

"No, he just sleeps in mine. And don't get judgey with me, Malfoy. I'm trying."

 _Try harder._ Draco had liked to think of Julian, when he allowed himself, as being spoiled and doted upon, not as a burden to Harry Potter.

"So sorry he's such a burden to you," he voiced.

"It isn't that!" Potter protested. "Honestly, Malfoy, Julian is one of the best things to ever happen to me. He's such a sweet baby, and... and he _trusts_ me. He needs me."

"I would think everyone trusted you, oh Saviour."

Potter's nose crinkled up. "I hate that name. And Jules is different. He's just a baby, he doesn't know all that crap about me. That's one great thing about little kids."

"I suppose you must be good with children."

Potter looked at him strangely. "What makes you say that?"

"I saw you once, in the market. With the girl Weasley. You had a baby with you, like you were playing pretend. Or practising." It had made Draco angry, at the time, for reasons he still couldn't place.

Potter laughed nervously. "Definitely not practising. Anyway, that was Teddy, Remus and Tonks' son. I'm his godfather."

Draco stopped short. Oh, right. The blue hair. That should have tipped him off - the boy was the child of a Metamorphmagus. "My cousin? The Black heir?" _My replacement,_ Draco had once thought. Of course, if anyone was his replacement, it was Julian, but it didn't feel that way to Draco. Julian was an addition.

"I guess he is, yeah. Second or something. He lives with Andromeda, I just used to watch him."

"Used to?"

"Well... it's harder, with two babies. Teddy comes over to play sometimes, but I can't easily take them out together all by myself. Teddy's a toddler now and it's hard to keep him still."

"Your Weasley doesn't help you?"

"Her name is Ginny," Potter replied testily, without answering the question

 _Hmm. Trouble in paradise._ Draco filed that away for later. "You said you used to stay with Andromeda."

"Sometimes, yeah."

"So why don't you just live there? I'm sure Teddy and Julian could be playmates, even with the year or so difference in their ages. And you and Andromeda could help each other out." Talking about the woman who was his aunt made Draco uneasy; he still felt the obligation to ignore family that had been disowned. _All the rules are being broken now, though._

Potter looked down at his hands. "She said Julian makes her uncomfortable."

 _So it goes both ways._ "Yes, I can see how he would," Draco replied, spreading mulch under the last tree.

"What?!" Potter's head shot up. "I told her it wasn't fair! He's just a baby!"

"He's part of a family who declared her dead to them, Potter. She turned her back on my mother ages ago."

"I'd say your mother turned her back on Andromeda."

"Perhaps." Draco set the bucket aside and sat down close enough to converse with Potter, but still a respectable distance away. "I do understand how she feels. And Julian isn't only the son of her estranged sister. Andromeda Black hated my father with a passion."

"She wasn't the only one," Potter grumbled.

 _"You_ don't hold that against Julian, do you? That he's the son of Lucius Malfoy?" _I swear, if Potter takes out any old grudges on my brother I'll-!_

 _I won't do anything. I can't._ Draco closed his eyes, feeling terribly impotent.

"No. I don't." There was a rustling sound. "Hey, Malfoy," Potter said softly. "Malfoy, look at me." Draco opened his eyes slowly and saw that Potter was much closer.

"I know who Julian is. I couldn't forget - he looks like a baby version of you. And I won't lie, I hated your father. I was..." he swallowed and continued. "I was happy when I heard that he was dead. I'm not proud of that, but I was."

"I hate him too, sometimes," Draco admitted. "I blame _him_ for what happened to my mother."

"But... not for what happened to you?"

"I don't know," Draco whispered, turning away from Potter's intense stare. "I try not to think about him."

"I wonder what he would have thought about your mother asking me to watch his son."

Draco dug his fingers into the familiar soil. The sun was sinking over Byehass Fell in the distance, casting a warm light around him and Potter. "He may have thought it a fate worse than death. You're a Half-blood, living among blood traitors. Don't get worked up," he added when Potter bristled. "I'm just telling the truth, from my father's perspective. On the other hand, you're politically connected and powerful now. He may have found it advantageous."

"And what do you think of it? Be honest, Malfoy. You were shocked when I told you."

"I was. I assumed a family would adopt him. But if it's what my mother wanted... Why _did_ she rope you into this? Tell me about this 'life-debt.'" Draco had been unimaginably curious about what Potter could owe his mother, ever since she first mentioned it off-handedly in St. Mungo's.

Potter leaned back and away. "She did something for me in the battle. Something big."

"Something big enough you owe her the next sixteen years of caring for her child? Potter, she must have saved your life."

"She did," Potter revealed. Draco gaped at him, speechless.

 _She brought all this on us,_ an insidious little voice piped up in his mind. Just as when he'd had the impulsive thought about turning Potter in, he brushed it aside. Voldemort would have lost his patience with one or all of the Malfoys eventually, and casually thrown a Killing Curse their way.

"How?" he demanded.

"She lied to Voldemort about something."

"Impossible," Draco stated flatly. "Mother was a decent Occulumens, but not _that_ skilled."

"He wasn't at his best in that moment. I'd rather not talk about it, actually."

"You'd rather not? I thought you were here for the express purpose of talking."

"Not about that."

"The very nature of your custody over _my_ brother hinges on what you owe my mother! I demand you tell me." Immediately Draco knew he'd overstepped his bounds, as Potter rose shakily to his feet. "No - Potter, I'm sorry - don't go, please, I promise I'll drop it -"

"Not today, Malfoy. Just... not today."

Draco stood to join him. _Say you're sorry!_ "I apologise for my hastiness. This is all very strange."

"You're telling me." Unexpectedly, Potter laughed; Draco relaxed. "I think I should get back. Next time you can tell me what you've been up to the past year."

"Mostly what you've seen. Farm work."

"I'm actually interested to hear about it. I can't Apparate from here, can I? Because of the trees."

"No. You'll have to walk over the hill."

"Alright then." Potter turned to leave.

"Who... who has been watching Julian while you're here?" Draco asked before Potter could get too far. "I'm just curious, mind."

"Hermione, which is why I need to leave. She's too busy to watch him for very long." He stared at Draco over his shoulder with a hard look, challenging him to say something derogatory about Granger.

Draco didn't rise to the bait. "Tell Granger thank you for me." The surprised look on Potters face was worth the sting of thanking that harridan for anything.

_Didn't think I had it in me, did you, Potter? I'll play nice all day if it gets Julian to me._

"I will, but she won't believe me." With that, Potter made his way toward the low hill at the edge of the oak stand.

Draco took a deep breath. _That didn't go terribly. He didn't taunt me about my magic, he didn't hold Julian over my head. He's still a prat, but... so am I. Maybe this won't be so bad._

~~~

It was a nearly a week before Potter returned. As the days wore on, Draco worried that he'd read the situation wrong. Maybe he _had_ offended Potter somehow.

Yet there he was, knocking at Draco's door on Sunday afternoon.

"I remembered when I came the first time on Sunday, you weren't working," he said without greeting Draco. "Seemed like a better time to stop by."

 _And leave me wondering if you were coming back at all._ Draco forced a smile. "Very observant. I have a half day off on Sunday."

"You work really hard, don't you?" Potter sat in the single chair. "There must be a lot to do."

"I'm the only full-time worker," Draco confirmed. "Tea? I've just put the kettle on."

"Oh, er, sure." Draco selected his least favourite blend - still an excellent one, as tea was one of his few pleasures.

"The need to avoid magic on most of the plants makes this a perfect job for Squibs," he continued, his back to Potter so he couldn't see Draco's expression. "A few more people come up for the apple harvest. Other than that it's just me, Jack and Lacey, and they've semi-retired."

"How'd you get this job, then?"

"Cora is Jack's cousin." He turned back to the table, teacups in hand; Potter appeared puzzled. "Cora, the nurse who watched Julian when he was born?"

"I didn't get her name."

 _"_ She told me that whomever took Julian would be informed of my whereabouts."

Potter snorted. "No one told me shit. I had to interrogate an elf who was working that stand I saw you at."

 _Cora lied to me. Not_ _surprising, really._

"I'm glad you did." Draco watched Potter carefully to see his reaction to his next statement. "Thank you. For seeking me out. I had given up hope, honestly. I thought I'd never see Julian again."

Potter's green eyes widened, and the kettle whistled.

"You're welcome."

Draco poured the tea, his eyes on Potter all the while. "Regardless of what Cora told me, I presumed that whatever family adopted Julian would keep him away from me on principle. I'm not exactly popular these days. Milk? Sugar?"

"Sugar. I haven't actually heard anything about you or your family since your mother died."

"No? I thought I was persona non grata. Only sugar, no milk?"

Potter confirmed with a nod. "A lot of sugar."

"Disgusting." Draco wrinkled his nose, pouring his own cup. "You can add that yourself."

"Why, how do you take it?" Potter reached for the sugar bowl and teacup that Draco set on the table.

"Two thirds tea, one third milk."

"One third milk?! You're barking, Malfoy."

"I don't like to burn my tongue."

"You're such a priss."

"You know me so well." It was a flippant remark, but Harry quieted and seemed to consider it seriously for a moment.

"I thought I did," he finally began slowly. "But I never expected to find you laying low, or working like this. I'd assumed you were pouting somewhere about having all your money taken."

Draco leaned back against the sink. He tried to keep hostility out of his voice, but it was harder to do with his posture. "And that's why you never sought me out. You assumed I knew about Julian and was just _sulking_ while I missed the first year of my brother's life."

Potter' expression was caught between guilt and defensiveness; the two emotions often went hand in hand, as Draco knew. Defensiveness won out.

"You haven't left me with the best impression over the years, Malfoy. Yeah, I knew you cared about your parents, but you were also a spoiled prick. How was I to know you were thinking of him, and missing him?"

"I tried not to, honestly." Draco stared in the shallow depths of his teacup rather than at the stubborn set of Potter's jaw. "It seemed futile, when I thought I'd never see him again. But I couldn't help myself."

"By the way, his birthday is next week."

"I'm well aware of the date."

Potter glared over his teacup. "Funny, you don't seem aware of much up here."

Draco slammed his own cup down on the counter. "What do you want from me? You're the one who sought me out, giving me promises that I'd see my brother, telling me things are _weird_ since I left! You want to know what I'm up to - look around, this is it. I work, I read, I drink tea, I sleep. I try to ignore the crushing guilt of leaving my only family behind. And I don't set foot in a world that doesn't want me! That's it, Potter. That's my life."

_Fuck, why did I say all that?_

"I - oh hell, I can't talk to you like this, with you standing over me." Potter got to his feet, but stayed on the opposite side of the table. "I just wanted to make sure I was doing the right thing, bringing Julian to see you."

"Right for him, or for me?"

"For him. I needed to see if you'd..."

"If I'd _changed,_ " Draco finished for him bitterly. "Well, you've seen me. I'm a manual labourer with a boring life. I'm not a Death Eater anymore." Predictably, Potter's eyes flicked rapidly to Draco's left arm and back. "I can't hurt anyone, and you know it. Not that I would hurt Julian in any case. I'd rather die."

"You weren't much of a Death Eater to begin with."

"Ah, see, now you sound like my father," Draco muttered sarcastically.

"It's not something to be ashamed of," Potter stated earnestly. "That you couldn't hack it. I mean, you should be ashamed you ever tried in the first place, but you didn't end up in prison, so I'm guessing you didn't murder anyone."

"No." Draco's shoulders slumped. "I didn't murder anyone. Not for lack of trying," he admitted, though it pained him to do so.

"There was a lot of lack of trying, from what I saw."

"The fuck does _that_ mean?" _How dare he? How dare he presume to know what I went through? He's always been there, always_ watching _me, thinking he knows me._ "Oh, right, you were stalking me all through Sixth year."

"Stalk- _Stalking?!_ " Potter blustered, looking inexplicably guilty. "I was trying to stop you! I knew you were up to something! And look, I was right!"

"That matters to you, doesn't it? Being right. Being _righteous._ "

"Doing the right thing? Yeah, that does matter to me." Potter had started to slowly circle the table toward Draco. "Guess you don't care about that, huh? You only care about yourself."

Draco moved the opposite direction around the table, keeping his distance. "I cared about plenty other than myself. My family, their honour."

"That's gone," Potter said cruelly. "So what's left that matters to you?"

"I - Julian." Draco stopped his circular progress. "Julian matters."

"But you didn't think you'd see him again. So what reason have you had to change?" Potter seemed to be asking himself as much as Draco. "You said it yourself - you _can't_ hurt anyone. The Ministry bound you! You didn't stop doing Dark magic on your own. You were forced."

"Story of my life," Draco bit out. _Ugh, could I sound any more self-pitying?_

Potter rolled his eyes. "Right, you were _forced_ to do all that shit in Sixth year."

"Stop acting like you understand! I didn't _enjoy_ any of that!"

Potter had made his way to stand directly in front of Draco. "I _want_ to understand! I've wanted to since then! Why did you go along with it Malfoy, if you didn't believe in it?"

"I didn't have a choice! He would have killed us all!" They were face to face now, and Draco had to hold himself back from punching Potter in the nose.

"You were at Hogwarts! He couldn't touch you! You could have gone to Dumbledore, McGonagall, any of them -"

"Yes, all your Gryffindor heroes, your precious Dumbledore, so ready to extend a helping hand to a fucking Marked man -"

"HE WOULD HAVE!" Harry roared. "And he did! It might have been too late for Dumbledore then, I know Snape _had_ to kill him, but it proves you wrong, Malfoy, he would have helped you. He wanted to."

Draco had always wondered how Potter had come after them so fast as he, Snape and the other Death Eaters fled Hogwarts on that terrible night. He had an answer now.

"You were watching," he realised, backing up a step, away from Potter's fury. "You saw me."

_You saw me in the worst moment of my life, up until that point._

"I saw you lower your wand. Dumbledore said you weren't a killer. But," Potter frowned, "I saw you run away, too, and that's what never made sense to me. If you couldn't be a Death Eater, why did you go with them?"

"If I didn't try, if I didn't come home, he would have killed my mother."

"But you had to know what he would try to make you do. Torture, and... and killing people. Is your mother really worth all those other lives? Worth our way of life? No one person is worth that."

"It's harder to sacrifice another person than it is yourself," Draco whispered through the tears that were beginning to prickle hotly at the corner of his eyes. Potter startled at that, and backed up a step.

_And I lost her anyway. I lost everything._

Draco slumped into the chair, having come to the other side of the table during their argument.

"All of it was for nothing, and I was wrong. Is that what you want to hear, Potter?"

"I just want to hear the truth."

"It's better you won. That's the truth."

The cabin was silent as Potter made his way over to the stove and set the kettle back on, casting _Incendio_ with shaking hands. They'd ended up opposite where they started.

As the water began to boil, Potter finally spoke. "I've been here less than a half hour and we already had a row."

"Are you really surprised?" Draco answered exhaustedly.

"I don't want to do this in front of Julian."

"You've said. Doesn't look likely." Draco sighed in resignation. "I know I promised I wouldn't fight with you, but you bring out the worst in me. I'm terrified you'll keep Julian away from me, but I can't help myself."

The honesty must have impressed Potter, because his mulish expression became contrite. "I... may have started this one."

"Maybe. It won't matter much to Julian who starts it if we argue in front of him, though. And I want to do right by him, Potter."

"I know. Maybe we - could you please Transfigure another chair? This is getting old."

"Could I what?" Draco blinked in confusion.

"Or I could, if your wand isn't handy. What can I use for the transformation?" Draco stared back in shock.

_He doesn't know. Salazar, he doesn't know that I've lost my magic._

Suddenly some things made sense: the question about levitation, Potter looking around while Draco was pruning before casting _Aguamenti_ \- he had been looking for Draco's wand. Or a replacement wand - how stupid was Potter, to not realise he'd never given the hawthorn wand back to Draco after the war? Or perhaps he didn't think he had to, given that he'd defeated the Dark Lord with it. Maybe it would go into a museum.

Potter was looking at him expectantly, but Draco didn't know what to say. _I've been mutilated? I'm a Squib? The Ministry broke me?_

Instead, he numbly answered, "You still have my wand."

"Holy fuck," Potter blurted out. "I do, don't I?"

"It's quite alright," Draco said with a false lightness. "It would have been taken at my arrest, so you did me a favour."

"Is that what happened to your mother's wand? And you couldn't afford a replacement?"

"I couldn't exactly go to Ollivander, regardless. Merlin, you're right, this is absurd. The blue tea tin is empty, transfigure a chair from that if you can." Potter set the tin on the ground and waved his familiar wand; a rough chair sprung up and knocked against the table.

"Whoops."

"Better than I could do."

"I'll bring it back," Potter said, taking a seat in the new chair.

"Bring what back?" Draco asked, already knowing and dreading the answer.

"Your wand. I mean, you're _allowed_ to have it, right? Now that you're free."

"No one told me I couldn't have a wand," Draco answered cryptically.

"OK then." Harry nodded decisively.

The kettle whistled, and Draco jumped up. "You wanted more tea, I assume? Since you lit the kettle."

"Oh. I guess? I just wanted something to do with my hands. I get... um, anxious, if I'm not doing anything."

"Something herbal then. Soothes the nerves," he clarified at Potter's questioning look.

"Mmm. That might be nice." Draco could feel Potter's gaze as he doled out some strawberry tea.

"You've been doing everything without magic, then?"

"Most of the farm work requires that, so it worked out."

"Right, like the wand wood. What else is here?"

"Trees for brooms, apples, flowers... a lot of things."

"Brooms?" Potter's eyes lit up. "Do you still have one?"

"No." Draco set the cups down harder than he intended. _The last time I was on a broom was behind you, screaming in terror._ The heat, the roar of the flames, Vince's sharp cry as he fell -

"Maybe I'll bring a couple up here," Potter prattled on. "It might be nice to talk things out on a ride, rather than cooped up inside." Finally he noticed Draco's ashen face. "Malfoy?"

"I don't recall the last time I sat a broom very fondly." Draco was proud that his voice didn't shake, nor his gaze waver.

To his credit, Potter didn't look away either. "No, I guess you wouldn't. Are you going to let that keep you off one for the rest of your life?"

"I think we've established I'm a coward." Draco slid the sugar bowl over to Potter as he took a seat again. "Here's your terrible amount of sugar."

_Do brooms even work for Squibs? They're enchanted, but they must be summoned up... yet I was sure I'd heard tales of Muggles stumbling upon one and suddenly finding themselves twenty feet in the air._

Potter considered him over his teacup. "You're a good flyer, Draco. It would be a shame if you never got on a broom again."

"I was never good enough to beat _you,_ was I?" Draco's misfortunes since leaving Hogwarts made Quidditch losses pale in comparison, yet all those times Potter beat him to the Snitch still smarted.

"It's not a competition anymore," Potter responded. _Easy for him to say._ And how did Potter go so quickly from shouting furiously at Draco, to amiably chatting about flying, something which had once brought them to blows?

"You and I don't have a great track record of being civil on brooms, even when not frightened for our lives."

Potter broke the tension with a deep laugh. "There won't be a Snitch, so we should be fine."

"Perhaps." Strangely, Draco wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that he could take pleasure again in something which had brought him so much joy as a child.

"This will be fun, yeah? Give you a chance to enjoy it again," Potter said insistently. "Julian's birthday is on Saturday. Let's meet again before then, go out for a ride, and I can bring him up Sunday?"

"You'll have to come after sundown. Won't be much to see in the dark."

Potter stirred his repugnant tea, considering. "Oh. Well, we still have a few hours of daylight. Does your boss have brooms we could borrow?"

Jack and Lacey did indeed have several old brooms in a shed. Despite his fear, Draco had eyed them longingly once or twice, but didn't have the courage to ask if he could use one, or least attempt it. On the other hand, they were stored near farm equipment that he _did_ have permission to use. For a personal joyride, he wouldn't have risked being wrong about the brooms availability. But no one would deny Harry Potter the use of their old Cleansweep, he was certain.

But what if they got there, and the broom refused to respond to him? Draco would have to confess his lack of magic. Eventually, Potter would surely find out that Draco could not cast - maybe when he brought Julian, maybe when he brought Draco's wand, but soon. And Draco couldn't tell him it was taken entirely, lest he violate the agreement and be shipped off to Azkaban. Potter would believe in Draco's wickedness, just like everyone else, and Draco didn't think he could take that today; not after the exhausting fight, and not before he'd seen Julian.

"They only have one," Draco said, the lie bitter on his tongue.

"Oh." Potter's face fell, before his mouth twisted in thought. "We could... ride tandem? It's not ideal, considering... well. You know."

 _Not ideal is putting it lightly._ Draco was suspicious. "Why do you want to go out on a broom so badly? We could just take a walk around the farm."

Potter shifted in his chair. "Just don't get a chance to ride much these days," he mumbled.

On one hand, Draco wasn't sure if he could stomach leaning against Potter's back, holding him tightly by the waist, without feeling like the very flames of hell were licking at their heels. On the other, Potter would just bring two brooms up if Draco put this off, and then the secret would be out, and Draco was perfectly happy to delay the inevitable.

"Finish your tea," Draco said decisively. "Then we'll go flying."

~~~

Draco told Potter to wait outside the shed while he fetched the broom, and surreptitiously knocked the other two behind a crate of mulch.

"Here," he thrust the broom forward. "It's just an old Cleansweep, not what you're used to -"

"It's fine," Potter answered, extending his hand and placing it on the handle, but not taking it from Draco. "Did you want me to ride front, then?"

Draco blinked. "I'd assumed, yes." They faced each other awkwardly, both holding the broom, neither making any move to pull it from the other's grasp. For one moment, Draco imagined taking the lead, with Potter twisting his lanky arms around his waist, sweaty and exhilarated behind him, breath hot on his neck. There was no way he'd allow that - would he? Draco allowed his grasp to loosen, the handle slipping down through their hands until Potter tightened his grip.

_No. If anything still holds true from my old life, it's that I'll always be behind him._

Finally, Potter nodded and, swallowing, took it gently.

"Which way should we go?" he asked.

Draco gestured out toward Byehass Fell. "The Muggle-Repelling charms extend around the hill. We'll be safe as long as we stay behind there."

Placing the broom at about thigh level, Potter swung one leg over. He adjusted his seat a bit, then leaned forward. "Come on, then. This will definitely hold our weight."

Draco approached him, hesitation in every step. After long consideration, he swung a leg over the broom and inched forward until he was leaning lightly against Potter's back. "I'm ready." He was not, but didn't want to show his fear.

"You'll need to hold on better than that." Draco squeezed his eyes shut, and wrapped his arms around Potter's waist before he could change his mind.

"There. _Now_ I'm ready."

They took off slowly while Potter got his bearings. The Cleansweep responded well, and with more confidence he lifted them high into the sky. The familiar surroundings of Craik Forest calmed Draco, and the cool air was as far from Fiendfyre as one could get. Gradually he felt the tension seep out of him.

For a while they simply drifted aimlessly, neither speaking. Finally Potter broke the silence.

"My Firebolt never liked two riders." Potter spoke of his old broom as if it had a personality, and Draco understood.

"My Nimbus 2001 didn't either. I tried to put Pansy alongside, once, and it tipped this way and that before she slipped off. Wasn't hurt of course, just her pride." It had been in Fifth year, and she'd only fallen a foot to the ground, but her skirt had flipped up and Greg had laughed until she stormed back to the dungeons. Draco felt a bit of painful nostalgia for those days, when his only concern had been soothing Pansy's feelings so as not to lose his snogging privileges.

"Do you miss her?"

Draco hadn't thought of Pansy in ages. They had ended their teenage dalliance in Sixth year, when Draco was too tired and stressed to think of another person. He didn't harbour any deep romantic feelings about her; being together had simply been easy.

_Admit it - you also didn't want to drag her down with you._

"I don't know that I'd say I miss her, necessarily. I miss when everything seemed straightforward."

"She always seemed to like you. When did you break up?" There was something nasty in Potter's voice.

"She wasn't really my girlfriend, but... Sixth year. Why?"

"So you didn't hear her."

"Hear her what?"

"Nothing." Potter turned the broom in a sluggish circle.

"You brought me up here to talk. So talk."

"She just...". Potter wiggled, and leaned forward out of Draco's grasp. They were still going slow, so Draco wasn't _too_ worried about falling off, but their height was gradually increasing.

"At Hogwarts. That last night. She wanted to hand me over. To Voldemort."

Draco wasn't surprised. Indeed, Pansy had been the perfect Slytherin: she'd clung to Draco, seeing his friendship as an easy path to power, and backed away from him during the Carrows' tenure at Hogwarts, when it was clear that 'Malfoy' didn't mean what it used to. Ambition and self-preservation, all at once, and she certainly wasn't blessed with an excessive amount of bravery.

"Of course, you weren't there to see it," Potter continued. "I always wondered how you knew to come looking for me in the Room of Hidden Things."

Draco dug his fingers into Potter's bony hips. "Is this really the discussion you want to have twenty feet in the air?" He didn't receive a response; Potter expected him to explain. "The Mark started burning. He was on his way to Hogwarts, we all could feel it, and then we could _hear_ him in our heads."

"The whole castle heard that."

"Not the same way. Not that... awful _hissing_ sound echoing between your ears, like he's a part of your brain." Beneath his hands, Potter shuddered.

"I do know what that's like. I didn't know anyone else did, though."

The broom continued to rise, tilting at a precarious angle, as if Potter had become lost in his thoughts.

"Potter, I'm going to fall off if you don't pay attention." Wordlessly, Potter levelled the broom out around fifty feet above the forest. "This was a stupid idea," Draco muttered.

"No, the fresh air is nice," Potter countered. "Here, sit forward." He pulled one leg over until he was astride the broom side-saddle, and motioned for Draco to do the same.

Say what you would about the old Cleansweeps, but they had a long, thick handle, and two riders could sit facing out as if on a bench. It affected their manoeuvrability and speed, but made them sturdy and easy to control. After a brief moment where he worried he would pitch forward, Draco found a comfortable position.

Potter picked up the previous thread of conversation. "I was disappointed, you know. When I saw you in the Room. The last time I'd seen you, you kind of helped me."

"Helped you?" Draco laughed derisively. "By losing my wand?" Potter sent a hard stare in his direction.

"You didn't tell Bellatrix it was me."

_I got a thrashing for it, too. And later I reconsidered my choice, if only for a moment._

"How was I to know that was you? You looked even uglier than usual." Draco could tell that Potter didn't buy his false levity.

"We saw each other nearly every day of our lives for six years, Malfoy. You knew it was me. I'd know _you_ through three Stinging Jinxes."

"That's because you're a stalker." Draco took a small bit of pleasure in Potter's flustered noise.

"If you don't want to admit it, fine. But you knew. And you must have known you'd get in trouble." Potter's eyes widened a fraction. "Actually, what happened? Did Voldemort really show up?"

"He showed up," Draco said bitterly. "My Aunt took most of the _Crucios,_ but there were plenty left over for me."

"Fuck, Malfoy. I'm sorry. I mean, I'm not sorry you did that for me, or that I escaped."

"For you?" Draco exclaimed. "Potter, I just didn't want him to come to the Manor."

"Oh." Potter sounded strangely bereft.

"There wasn't any sort of master plan," Draco explained. "I was stalling, if you must know. I tried to avoid going face to face with the Dark Lord. Same goes for the when we found you in the Room, I didn't have any idea of what I was going to do if I caught you. I certainly didn't want to march out and meet him."

"You should have evacuated with the rest of the Slytherins."

"My house always did know how to save their own skin." _Not a possibility for me, not with my parents in his clutches._

"Aberforth told me we should have kept some hostages, but I knew Voldemort didn't care about his followers' children. He sent you on a suicide mission, made you torture people -"

"I beg your pardon?" _How does he know that I tortured anyone?_

"I told you I could hear his voice," Potter answered mysteriously. "We were... connected." He gestured at Draco's left arm. "And so were you."

Draco fidgeted with his cuff, making sure it didn't roll up. "Is it still there?" Potter asked with morbid curiosity.

"It's faded a bit, but it's still there, plain as day." _Please don't make me show you, please don't -_

"Don't show it to me. I can't see it, not right now. And - don't show it to Julian, either. Not until he's old enough to understand."

Draco silently seethed. Did Potter think he was going to point it out on purpose? "What's to understand? It's shameful and I'll never be rid of it."

"Is it?"

"Is it what?"

"Shameful. Do you regret it?"

"What the fuck kind of question is that, Potter? I'm miles from home, without my wand, trying to make peace with _you_ so I'll be allowed to see the only family I have left. Obviously things didn't work out in my favour."

Potter snorted in derision. "I figured that you regret all the bad shit that happened to _yourself,_ Malfoy. That's not what I meant. Do you regret supporting Voldemort?"

Draco had spent quite some time trying not to look back, not to second guess all his decisions. "I've learned that regrets are unproductive," he said evasively.

"So you don't feel bad at all?" Potter pressed. "About trying to murder people, about letting Death Eaters into the school?" His voice was rising. "About all the terrible things you said to me and my friends?"

"Is that what this is?" Draco asked incredulously. "You want an apology?"

"It wouldn't hurt!" Potter shouted, before catching himself. "That's - no, that's not really it. I just want to know you won't tell Julian all the terrible things your parents told you. That some people are worth less than others."

Draco already knew that raising Julian with the old Pure-blood ideals wasn't going to help him in the new world. "I think it's only fair Julian start with a clean slate." Potter nodded in agreement, and Draco suddenly felt compelled to apologise for at least one thing.

"I am sorry for giving you so much grief about your parents. I suppose I finally understand how painful it is to be an orphan." Potter opened his mouth, but Draco rushed on. "No, let me finish. I wasn't exactly encouraged to be sympathetic as a child. It was difficult for me to comprehend things like pain and death until they were staring me right in the face, and by then it was too late. But I do regret that anyone suffered because of me, or that anyone died." Although he was talking to reassure Potter, Draco found that he believed what he was saying.

"You didn't kill anyone, though." Potter stated firmly, seemingly clinging to that fact.

"Directly? No. But you were there on the Astronomy Tower. And... in the Room."

Potter cringed. "Crabbe did that himself."

"I suppose it needs to be said, then." Harry cocked his head, and Draco gestured to the broom beneath them. "You saved my life. Thank you." The acknowledgement felt less awful than Draco expected it to.

Graciously, Potter didn't lord it over him, and simply answered, "You're welcome."

The conversation lapsed, and Draco suddenly realised they had drifted past Byehass Fell and toward the A7.

"You'll go past the charms!" Potter simply pulled his wand and waved it in a languid arc around them, as they both straddled the broom again.

"Disillusionment Charm, silly."

It was an excellent job, Draco had to admit. "That's a skillful charm for someone who never took NEWTS." He bit his tongue as Potter stiffened beside him.

"Robards insisted I practice some of the basic Auror trainee spells, even if I'm not sure when I want to start."

"You're very good at it," Draco said, placating, and it seemed to work. Potter dipped sideways and continued their ride. Small farms and streams passed beneath them as they continued east.

Potter leaned forward, looking out into the distance. "What's that castle over there?"

"Hermitage Castle. It's a bit of a Muggle tourist spot."

Potter craned his neck back and looked at Draco strangely. "Have you been there?"

"No." Draco had been to Teviothead several times since moving to Craik, when there were things he needed and deliveries weren't due. More than once he'd praised his own clever foresight in having Galleons exchanged for Muggle money, even if he still had trouble counting it. The main shops all carried brochures for the local sights, and Hermitage was among them.

"It has a bit of a bloody history. Supposedly one of the Muggle lords who lived there was boiled to death for witchcraft, and another was starved to death in the dungeons."

"Is it haunted?" Potter asked with a gleam in his eye. Draco shrugged, but it didn't deter him.

"Let's go, then!" Potter turned the broom, and Draco moved a hand to his shoulder, tugging back as if that would arrest the broom's forward motion.

"The sun's going to go down soon."

"What better time to creep around a haunted castle, Malfoy?" He laughed at Draco's doubting look. "Where'd your sense of adventure go?"

"I'm not sure I ever had one," Draco muttered. _I chased you all over Hogwarts, jealous of_ your _adventures, but I never really went on my own. Everything I've ever done has been in reaction to something or at the behest of another._

The possibility of being caught by Muggles on a broom made Draco's stomach clench. Still, as the great yawning entrance of the castle loomed before them, he couldn't deny the thrill that ran up his spine.

Potter descended towards the top of the castle rather than the tall pointed archway in front. "Bet the Muggle tours never come up this high," Potter stated as they alighted atop a tower. "All those liability issues."

"I can see why." Draco peered over the side, and cringed as a small stone dislodged and went tumbling down what must have been hundreds of feet to the ground.

"Too bad for them. The view is amazing."

Draco had to admit, the view _was_ breathtaking. The sunset over the hills and forests to the west was going to be gorgeous in a half hour or so. He and Potter gazed out over the trees.

"It's really beautiful around here. Everything else aside, do you like it?"

Did he? Draco had enjoyed the outdoors as a child, constantly getting lost on the Manor grounds. "It has its charms. Better than skulking around Diagon. Much better than..." _How pathetic do I allow myself to appear?_ "...than sleeping behind Gringotts."

"Wait, really?"

Draco shrugged. "Rooming houses aren't cheap. At least here I have a roof over my head, and no one's around to hate me or be afraid of me. I can go outside as I please, I'm not starving, and while the work isn't intellectually stimulating, it's a pleasant environment."

Potter peered at him curiously. "Were you? Starving?"

"Sometimes. Especially if..." Draco looked away, memories rushing back. "If I bought something for my mother, books or such. She was bored."

"Did you get to see her before she died?"

"I visited her every week," Draco answered sharply. "I didn't abandon her."

With a deep sigh, Potter turned his back on the impending sunset and slid down the crenellated wall. "I guess it's only fair I tell you what she wrote to me."

 _Fucking finally._ "It has been the pressing question in my mind, yes, how a teenager gained custody of an unrelated child."

"I didn't like your mum," Potter began, and Draco bristled. "Don't make that face, Malfoy, she didn't like me, either. But remember when I told you she lied to Voldemort?"

"I remember how absurd that sounded, yes."

"Well, she told him I was dead."

Draco found himself sinking to the stone roof beside Potter. "She _what?_ "

Potter continued the story, his voice strangely lifeless. "When Voldemort came back to Hogwarts from the Forbidden Forest and told everyone I was dead, I was faking."

"I'd assumed, seeing as you killed him, and you sit before me now."

"He attacked me in the Forest, but it backfired on him as well. He thought he'd killed me, but was too, I don't know, out of sorts to come check. So he sent your mum."

"And she was fooled as well?"

"No." Potter's laugh was a bit gruesome. "She felt my heart beat. But she leaned down and asked if you were still alive, and since I'd just pulled you out of a fire, I could tell her yes. She turned right around and told Voldemort I was dead. And you know the rest."

  
_Holy shit._

"Holy shit."

Draco's crude exclamation startled Potter, and he seemed to come back from whatever place he'd drifted. "Yeah. She saved my life. And I want to believe that someone else, Neville or McGonagall maybe, could have finished him off after everything we'd done beforehand, but I don't know. I really don't. I think it _had_ to be me so... she saved _everyone._ "

"Everyone but herself," Draco couldn't help but be in awe of his mother.

"No," Potter agreed. "But she knew exactly what she'd done, and what I owed her. She played me a bit, I think," he added wryly. "She wrote me that letter, describing exactly how alone Julian would be in the world, how much danger he would be in as her son, and that he shouldn't be blamed for her failings. How much care a motherless child would need, and that he'd be sent to an orphanage or an uncaring family if I didn't step in. She finished off by reminding me she'd saved my life out of love for her other son, and that my mother had done the same for me."

"Mother was good at finding a weakness."

"Love isn't a weakness," Potter insisted. "And like I told you before, I was hesitant. But you were nowhere to be found, and everyone at St. Mungo's was so dismissive of Julian. You know he was alone in a mostly dark room when I got there?" Anger coloured his voice, and Draco was suddenly glad that Potter had been there to advocate for his little brother. "So yeah, I took him. No one understood why, but they don't get it. They don't know what it's like to have no one want you."

"I wanted him," Draco murmured. "I loved him the minute I set eyes on him. I wanted to do right by him, but they wouldn't let me. And I... I cried and cried, the night I got here, but I felt so helpless. I tried not to think about him, because it only made me miserable." He refused to cry again, especially not in front of Potter - admitting that he'd done it once was bad enough. "We're a sad bunch of orphans, Potter."

"You'll be together again soon."

Draco inhaled deeply, and let out a shuddering sigh. "We may fight the rest of our lives, but you need to know I'll always be grateful for that."

The wall cast a deep shadow as the sun sank behind them. "You know," Potter said, "when I was really little, I sometimes pretended I had a long-lost sibling, and I'd find them again someday. Of course, when I got to Hogwarts, everyone knew who I was and I found out that couldn't be true. But it was fun to imagine."

"You didn't know about your family?" Draco had grown up knowing who 'Harry Potter' was. "But you were famous."

"Didn't you hear what I said? No one wanted me. I know you thought I was spoiled or something, because the whole Wizarding World knew my name, but I was raised by my mum's Muggle family, and they hated me."

"How do you hate a child?" Draco wondered out loud.

Potter's smirk was still visible in the fading light. "You did a pretty good job."

Draco had the sudden urge to smack him, but not in a violent way; rather, like he and Blaise used to shove each other in a friendly manner after one made a joke at the others' expense.

_The world will really be completely turned upside down if Potter and I end up as friends._

He settled for a small grin of his own. "You gave as good as you got."

A loud bang from down below - one of the Muggle caretakers shutting a gate, perhaps - broke the moment of camaraderie. It occurred to Draco that it was a bit perverse, joking about their school days like that, as if they had simply been Quidditch rivals teasing each other in the hallways. But he and Potter had absolutely tormented one another. Potter had been there to see Draco's father thrown into a hellish prison, and Draco had attacked him in retaliation on the train. Draco had attempted to murder the other boy's mentor and friend; Potter had nearly killed Draco himself.

One look at Potter told Draco that he was thinking the same, that their history went far beyond childish antics. Draco cleared his throat. "So, Sunday you'll return, then? On a Portkey?"

Potter allowed the subject change. "Oh, right. Is your house a registered destination, then?"

"No, you'll have to go to the main farmhouse. I can meet you there around one in the afternoon."

"That's fine, then." Potter gazed up at the sky, taking in the stars that were slowly becoming visible. "We could bring Julian up here for a picnic, sometime."

"You aren't putting a one-year old on a broom," Draco scoffed, and Potter tensed beside him.

"I'm the one who makes those decisions, not you." Draco gaped at him helplessly. _It's true, I have no say._

"I'm well aware you have custody," he said through gritted teeth. "I would just hope you'd also have common sense."

"I do just fine," Potter responded hotly. "Your mum trusted me-"

"My mother trusted your name."

"It's also his name now, so you'd do well to trust me, too!"

"You-" _No. NO. How dare he?_ "You called him _Potter?_ "

Potter froze. "The Ministry papers were for adoption. It was... the process was complicated, since I'm not a relative. Technically, he was a ward of the state and I had to adopt him."

Draco continued to be stunned that an 18 year old boy had been allowed to walk out of a hospital with a baby to which he had no family connection. It was a testament to Potter's influence, as well as to how far the Malfoys had fallen.

"I don't call him that," Potter added. "He can use Malfoy when he's older, if he wants to." He cocked his head at Draco. "You don't, do you? When you answered the door. You said 'not anymore.' What did you mean?"

"It doesn't really matter what my name is," Draco said wearily. "I have no home, no legacy. I'm not expected to marry and have heirs."

"Aren't you lonely?" Potter asked after a beat. Draco shrugged one shoulder.

"Who would want to be around me? This suits just fine."

"You were just going to stay up here alone for the rest of your life?" Draco shrugged yet again, and Potter shook his head at him. "It isn't good for people to be completely alone."

 _Like you would know? You've always had your little gaggle of friends, and an adoring public._ He recalled what Potter said about his Muggle relatives, but brushed it aside; the whole time Draco was acquainted with Potter, he'd been accompanied by Gryffindors and featured in the papers.

"Don't worry about me, Potter," he said a bit harsher than intended. The last thing he needed was pity, from Potter especially. If loneliness did creep in occasionally, that was none of his business; Draco refused to appear weak.

"I'm serious," Potter insisted. "People need company. Did you know babies have to be cuddled or something goes wrong with them? Touch starvation, it's called." Draco was reminded of the dark little nursery where Julian slept when he met him, the first and only time.

"I'm not a baby, though. And soon enough I'll see Julian, so again, don't worry about me. I have to put up with your irritating self from now on as well, so I think I'll have my fill of _company._ "

"You're not my favourite person, either," Potter said, and Draco inexplicably thought he detected hurt in his voice. "I do think it will be good for Julian to be with you, though. You miss him so much, you'll be excited to see him, yeah? He'll feel very special."

"With so many Weasleys in the house, I'd imagine he gets quite a bit of of attention." Potter was silent, and Draco grew anxious. "Potter? He is looked after, yes?"

"I look after him fine."

"You're just one person, though. There's no way the Weasleys have house-elves. Are you really the only one caring for him? Is Granger watching him again tonight?"

"Yeah. Her and Ron are at the Burrow with him."

"Hmm. Good practise, I suppose."

Potter laughed sharply. "Molly said that, and me and Ron got an _earful_ later. How dare she assume Hermione wants children, why does she only tell Hermione how to change a diaper, all that. Ron might be scared off the whole idea forever."

"What about you?"

"Me?"

"Yes, you. Don't you want children of your own? I doubt Weaselette thinks Julian counts."

"You shut up about Ginny," Potter spat, jumping to his feet. Draco blinked, unsure what he'd done to provoke the abrupt change of mood, and responded in kind.

"If your girlfriend isn't welcoming to my brother, that is my concern, don't you think?"

"She isn't my girlfriend!" Potter took one deep breath, then forged on. "She isn't my girlfriend. Not anymore."

"Must be awkward living with her."

"Ginny just doesn't understand about Julian. It's not her fault. Everyone... her whole family hurts."

Draco knew what Potter wasn't saying. "She planned to start a life with _you,_ not you and someone else's baby. A Malfoy baby, no less. What did you expect?"

"I expected her to know it isn't fair to judge a child for their families' mistakes."

"Merlin, Potter, did you really break up with your girlfriend over my brother? I doubt my mother meant for you to give up your whole life." _And you'll resent him someday for this, and resentment breeds unkindness._

"Oh, come off it. Your mum didn't care about my life. She cared about keeping Julian safe."

"And I reiterate, you could have turned him away."

Potter moved toward the broom. "It's getting really late. Come on."

Draco wanted to be stubborn, to insist they remain until Potter explained further about his relationship; for some reason Draco desperately needed to know the details. But Potter was his ride home, and if pushed too hard, might just leave him on top of the castle with no way down. So he swallowed his questions and rose to his feet, bushing off the dust from the roof that had gathered on the seat of his trousers. As he approached the broom, Potter gave him a strange look, then held his hand out. It wasn't strictly necessary, but Draco allowed himself to be pulled up, and took up his place on back of the broom again.

Potter's muscles bunched under Draco's arms as they flew back towards the cabin, and he found that he was a bit soothed by the human contact. _Touch starvation._ Was that something real? It _had_ been so long since anyone touched him. Carefully, he lay his head against Potter's back, exhaustion creeping over him.

Halfway through the ride back to the cabin, Potter spoke up.

"You're wrong, you know. I couldn't turn him away. You just don't know what it's like. You just... don't know."

"You seem to have given up a lot for one child, Potter."

"Ginny and I didn't only break up because I was caring for Julian. There were other things."

Those other things went unsaid.

As they approached Draco's home, Potter simply hovered ten feet up, seemingly unwilling to land. Draco didn't know what he was waiting for. Finally, Draco leaned back, signalling wordlessly that he was prepared to dismount, and they descended beside the door.

"I'll see you Sunday, yeah?"

"Yes. At the main house."

Potter set the broom against the wall and turned, Disapparating without a goodbye.


	5. Paradoxical Contrivances For Intercrossing

The next week seemed to pass slower than any since his time at the farm began. The enchanted flowers were beginning to bloom, requiring extra care, yet Draco was barely able to concentrate on his work. When Sunday arrived, he found himself at the farmhouse, in the same spot he'd arrived one year prior.

 _Has it really only been a year?_ It felt simultaneously like yesterday and a lifetime ago.

Jack paused on his way up the walk, returning from the wand orchard. "Something you need? I never see you up here on Sunday." It was true; Draco tended to keep to himself on most days, and especially during his time off.

"I'm meeting an acquaintance," he replied carefully, not wanting to reveal exactly who was visiting. Potter didn't like being fawned over.

"Friends of yours? They can't be a good sort."

 _Damn. I've made him suspicious._ "Just someone I know from school."

"Maybe they shouldn't come up here, yeah?"

Jack appeared extremely nervous, which confused Draco. "What could you be afraid of?"

"There's still people out to do harm, you know," he said while peering mistrustfully at Draco. "Why, just the other day there was another one of them explosions."

"I'm sorry, explosions?" Draco hadn't glimpsed a _Prophet_ in months.

"You know, like that one in the marketplace last year, or at the Ministry this Boxing Day. Some sort of... overload of magic. Poor blighter lit up like a Christmas tree."

Right, the attack his mother had been concerned about. "I'm afraid I hadn't heard of the latter. I stay away from the news."

"Hmm." Jack sounded sceptical. "This most recent one, someone died. Everyone's still a bit afraid, even though it's been months. Doesn't make sense. And here I thought we were done living in terror."

Draco was taken aback by the description. _Terror._ That's what is was, of course. Not being sure if you or your family would be attacked, or killed.

He'd done his part to spread it, instilling fear in his classmates as a bully, and later as an instrument of the Dark Lord. When he was younger, it had pleased him to see his peers cower away from him - it was a testament to his power, was it not? Father had said so. But watching firsties cringe away from him during Seventh year hadn't made Draco proud or feel powerful. It made him feel like a monster.

_And I was living in terror myself, with the Dark Lord nesting in my house, watching for the slightest misstep._

What would he tell Julian when he was older? If Draco had been raising him, he could ease them into the discussion, bring up the subject of Draco's past slowly and carefully. Julian would understand _why_ Draco had done what he did, even if it wasn't something to be proud of. But now he could only hope to explain himself in the face of an onslaught of inevitable questions, and defend himself against accusations that Julian would surely level at him.

Lost in thought, the _whoosh_ of a Portkey made Draco jump. Jack whirled around, his hand going to his waist, but it remained there limply as he took in the sight of their visitor.

"Mr. Potter?!"

Draco opened his mouth to greet Potter - _Not a good sort, eh? Take that, Jack!_ \- but found himself unable to form the words. Held tightly in Potter's arms was a baby, peering out carefully from behind one little hand.

"Say hi, Julian," Potter whispered softly.

Julian didn't say anything; hadn't Potter mentioned that he only had a few words? _He is barely a year old._ He did lock eyes with Draco, however, and moved his chubby fist away from his face.

Potter gestured at Draco's arms. "Would you like to...?" Draco nodded vigorously, still too overcome to speak, and Potter carefully handed him over. "He gets a bit nervous around strangers, don't be worried if he starts to cry."

The warning was moot; Julian's little blue eyes went wide, and he snuggled right into Draco's arms.

"Or not," Potter said bemusedly.

"Hello, sweet," Draco said tenderly. "Do you remember me?" Julian reached out, a bit uncoordinated, and pulled on a lock of Draco's hair that swung into his eyes. "Just like yours, yes." Jack made a startled noise to his left, but Draco ignored him.

"He likes to grab things," Potter pointed out. "I've started using an Eyesight Charm because my glasses are so tempting."

Draco laughed, and Julian smiled. "Oh, I missed you so much."

"Er, hullo. I'm Harry." Potter extended one hand towards Jack, but he didn't move from where he stood, staring balefully at Draco.

"You brought him that baby," Jack said flatly. "My sister said they took it away."

Potter's eyes grew hot with anger. "His name is Julian. We're going to be visiting Draco from now on."

 _What did he fucking call me?_ Draco was too busy cuddling his brother to address it. Let Potter defend him, if he wanted. The most important thing was that Julian was in his arms yet again.

"Not at my house you won't," Jack protested.

"At Draco's house, yes."

"It's my property."

"Do you know-" Potter broke off. Draco couldn't believe it, but the end of that sentence had to be " _who I am?_ "

Jack knew it too, and faltered. "I know who you are, Mr. Potter," he said with less bite. "Beg your pardon. It's just, one of them is enough, yeah? Least the boy here can't cast any magic." Draco hoped fervently he wouldn't elaborate on that.

Potter was furious. "Julian is a _baby._ He can't hurt anyone."

"Not yet. It's not like Dark magic is totally gone from the world, though, yeah?"

Abruptly, Potter laughed, although there was no mirth in the sound. "I think I can handle myself around Dark magic."

Jack glanced back up at the farmhouse. "Suppose it's not my place to tell you what to do, Mr. Potter. Prefer you'd not come up to our house, at least."

"I think I'd prefer that as well."  Potter stood his ground. Jack wasn't a small man, but in the face of Potter's ire he seemed to crumple, and turned sharply on his heel to return to the house.

Julian made a small noise of distress, and Draco tried to soothe him. "Hush, you're fine, see? Potter scared that nasty man away." He quirked a brow in Potter's direction. "I'd forgotten how fierce you can be."

"He's really sensitive." Potter reached over to give Julian a pat on the head, completely ignoring Draco's personal space. "Even if you keep your voice down, he gets upset when people argue."

"And yet, here he is with the two of us. I'll do my best to stay pleasant, Potter."

"Harry."

So the use of his first name had been purposeful. "You cannot be serious."

"Jules is learning to speak, he needs to associate words with objects and names with people. I don't want to confuse him." Potter seemed to be reciting.

"Are those your words or Granger's?"

"Hermione did tell me that," Potter said petulantly. "But she's not wrong. It makes sense. Not supposed to curse in front of him, either, but, er, that's been difficult."

"So you want to be 'Harry' and 'Draco.' Doesn't seem likely."

"Lets just try it," Potter insisted. Draco scrunched his nose up, and Julian giggled.

"I wasn't making faces for you, silly thing." Draco found he couldn't stay irritated with his brother around. "Fine, Potter. _Harry._ Ugh, feels weird already. But I'll try."

Potter - _Harry,_ Draco reminded himself, _this is going to be impossible_ \- looked back up toward the farmhouse. "I guess we shouldn't stick around here."

"No. Let's go to the cabin." Draco groaned as he shifted Julian in his arms. "Gracious, Po- Harry, he is _heavy._ You really carry him all around?"

"Oh!" Harry exclaimed. "I'd forgotten. Here." He produced several small objects from his pocket and waved his wand over them; a bag, a levitating pram, and the dragon from the photograph appeared. Julian squirmed and reached for the stuffed creature as Draco set him in the pram.

"Fa! Fa!"

Harry laughed and handed the dragon over. "Yeah, here's Firebreath, go on." The head of the dragon immediately went into Julian's mouth. "He, uh, bites things a lot."

"Yes, I can tell." Draco watched bemusedly as his little brother nestled into the pram, happily chewing the dragon. "It looks a bit worse for wear."

"It's his favourite."  

Draco leaned down towards the pram. "Do you want to see some live animals on the way? There are baby chickens, all fluffy. And some ducklings by the pond. We can visit them, too." Julian wiggled and smiled. Draco knew he didn't understand full sentences, but wanted to talk to him anyways.

Straightening up, he noticed that Harry regarded him warily. "Don't like ducklings?"

"Oh, er, I'd just better be going. This isn't really - you're none of my business."

And just like last time, Harry spun on his heel and Disapparated.

"Potter is an odd one, don't you think?" Draco said as he pulled the floating pram beside him. "Or Harry, rather."

"Har!"

"Yes, him. He's fucked off for the day, I gather. That's not a word for you, by the way. By the time you're old enough to know what words mean I shall expect you to have some restraint, hmm? But I'm an adult, and I've earned my cursing." Julian simply grinned around his mouthful of dragon head.

"You aren't a very riveting conversationalist, are you? No wonder Harry seems to be going mad. Here's a secret: I know how he feels."

~~~

Draco felt as if he were living in a fantasy. The weather was beautiful, and his brother was practically bubbling, making 'happy chirpy baby' sounds as he watched fuzzy ducklings cavorting on the pond. It was even better than the life Draco had dared imagine during his mother's pregnancy. No one was around to insult them, or judge Draco as he allowed himself to laugh with abandon as Julian toppled over in attempt to grab a duckling that wandered too near.

He couldn't stop touching Julian: holding him close, stroking his wispy blond hair, giving him a soft tap on the nose just to provoke a toothless grin.

If anyone had told Draco he would crave this sort of life, only three years ago, he would have called them mad. Back then he couldn't afford to think about the future, only fulfilling the vulgar task assigned to him, and everything after had been pure survival. But this is what people did, wasn't it? Had families and enjoyed them.

This is what people had fought against Draco's own family to earn the right to enjoy.

There was no way this detente with Harry Potter could last. His mood swings aside, Harry had despised Draco as long as he knew him, and that was _before_ they stood on opposite sides of a battlefield. Harry was good, and kind, and seemed to care about Julian, so he was making an effort. It was admirable, Draco had to admit.

But Harry was also hot-tempered, and decided on his actions quickly and seemingly without logic. At any moment he could remember any one of a dozen slights against his person that Draco had delivered over the years and decide to keep Julian away, even if he swore otherwise. Therefore, Draco would make the most of every second they spent together.

"It's getting a bit chilly," Draco told his brother as he lifted him into the pram. "Let's go back up to the cabin. I have a present for you."

Draco had rushed his work on Thursday in order to make a trip into Teviothead and visit the only boutique in town. He didn't know anything about Muggle children's toys, or what babies really needed, but clothes were clothes, and the soft blue jumper caught his eye immediately. He desperately wished he could cast warming charms or something personal on it, but it would have to do as is. There was no way he was allowing Julian's birthday to pass without giving him _something,_ even if it was practical and not something a one year old would understand as a gift.

As he expected, Julian didn't really appreciate clothes, but he did snuggle into the jumper once Draco reached the cabin and put it on him. "There. Nice and warm. Now we can go sit outside."

Harry returned at sundown to find Draco and Julian on the front lawn of the cabin. Draco didn't acknowledge him, and continued instead to point out the fireflies that hovered around Julian's head.

"I was so surprised when our mother told me they weren't magical. No, don't grab. You'll hurt it. I'll catch one for you, gentle, see?" Draco cupped his hands quickly around one firefly, like a tiny glowing Snitch, and let the light flicker through his fingers.

Finally Harry must have tired of watching them from the shadows, and approached.

"Did Jules behave himself today?"

"He did indeed. You didn't leave me instructions, so I gave him the bottle that was in the bag as well as some berries we picked on the way here, but he's probably hungry again."

"Bot!"

"Yes, bottle. Harry will get you another at home, I'm sure." Draco began to gather up Julian's things that were scattered about - the dragon, a rattle, a bottle, a blanket - and placed them back into the bag. Babies seemed to require a vast supply of items at all times. He'd figured out the nappies after two tries.

Harry scuffed the ground with one toe. "I'm staying at Grimmauld tonight, Kreacher will feed him."

"Kreacher?"

"The old Black house-elf."

"I thought you didn't like staying there."

"I don't," Harry said petulantly. "It's dark, and lonely, and Kreacher hates me. Dotes on Julian, though, in a creepy way."

"He is a Black, after all." Draco handed the full bag over to Harry, who shrank it without being asked.

"It's still freaky."

"Why not just live full time at the Weasleys, or get your own place?"

Harry didn't answer that. Instead he asked, "Jack didn't come by and give you any trouble, did he?"

"He avoids the cabin at the best of times, so no."

"It's fucked up," Potter complained. "Everyone looks at Julian like he's going to cast an Unforgivable at them. Even if he weren't, you know, a _baby,_ he isn't your father."

"They assume the apple doesn't fall far from the tree," Draco muttered self-deprecatingly. _After all, I took after Lucius just fine, didn't I?_

"It isn't fair to be awful to someone because you didn't like their father," Harry spat. There was hurt in his eyes that felt, to Draco, to be more personal than just on Julian's behalf.

"When you say 'everyone,' you don't mean the Weasleys, or Granger, do you? Your ersatz babysitter?"

"Hermione is way too logical for that," Harry said as he followed Draco inside the cabin, Julian safely ensconced in the pram again. "She didn't even think _you_ should be locked up."

"I'm sorry, what?!" Draco stopped so abruptly that Harry ran into his back as he came through the door.

"Ow! Move out of the way." Draco complied, setting the pram on his bed and turning back to face Harry, who closed the door and leaned on it. "She was pretty livid when she came back to London in July that year and found out the Death Eater trials weren't public. Kingsley got an earful, but he's only interim Minister, that was all Wizengamot stuff. She definitely made a fuss about you being tried as an adult once or twice."

"The trials were all alike. I wasn't sentenced as an adult, though." _Not really. The stripping of my magic is something new._

"Just probation and no Dark spells? Seems reasonable."

Draco clenched his fists. _Reasonable._ Potter had no idea how utterly unreasonable Draco had been treated, and there was no way to tell him.

"Anyway," Potter continued, "Hermione and Luna and some other people made a fuss about the trials only being revenge. I think if they had sent you or Goyle or Nott to Azkaban, she'd have started a campaign."

Draco started; he had no idea what became of Goyle or Nott, or any of his former friends and classmates after the war. He'd seen none of them when he was skulking around Diagon. But the Not-Auror who'd told him about his sentence... he _had_ mentioned there'd been some sort of fuss, some sympathisers that had to be appeased.

"Then yet again, I must ask you to tell her thank you for me."

Harry nodded carefully. "Same time next week, then?"

"That soon?" Draco was pleasantly surprised. "These visits won't be monthly, then?"

"I mean, if I can make it every week, sure. I'll bring you your wand next time - sorry I don't have it on me, it wasn't at the Weasleys and I came from there. Maybe you can Apparate to see us."

"I'm not able to do that," Draco said evasively.

"Too far?" Harry asked smugly.

"It's too far for most. But of course the great Harry Potter can Apparate where he pleases. I'm certain you could reach the Continent if you tried." _There, let that be my explanation._

Harry dismissed Draco's snide remark with a wave. "Well, next week then. I can just walk up here if you don't want to go by the house."

"No. Let them see me. They aren't going to fire me, so who cares."

~~~

With Julian in his life again, the weeks now began to fly past as summer farm work began for Draco. Sometimes Harry was in a decent mood when they met; other times he barely said a word. Draco began to piece things together: when he arrived from a weekend at the Weasleys, he was short-tempered, and usually departed to Grimmauld. When he arrived from time at the Black house, he was talkative, but troubled, and generally went back to the Weasleys.

_He's lonely in that big old house, but things are tense with his adoptive family, so he bounces back and forth between them, never happy at either place._

Finally, one afternoon in June - the day before Draco's own birthday, in fact - Harry followed him up to the cabin on the pretence of giving him something. It wasn't Draco's wand; that had been returned to him in April, and he promptly shut it up in a drawer. Harry never asked him about it.

"I've got you a birthday present."

"How did you know it was my birthday?"

"Dunno. I just remembered it was. Here you go," Harry said, withdrawing a small object from his pocket and tossing it at Draco. He caught it unthinkingly, and Harry grinned. In his palm, Draco held a Snitch.

"You can command it not to go over a certain height," Harry explained. "So you can bat it around with Julian. But you can take it out on your own, too. It responds to commands."

"Not so good for a Seeker's game, then." Draco turned the Snitch over in his hand several times, allowing the shape of it to fill him with nostalgia.

"Not unless we both agree not to call it. Could I trust you?"

_Such a weighted question._

"We can't leave Julian unattended while we go flying off. And there is still only one broom here." One broom that Draco had never returned to its place, and had tested on his own as soon as Harry left that time. It worked just fine. But he couldn't admit there were more in the shed, lest he be caught out in a lie.

"You didn't answer my question."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes, you could trust me."

"Let's go out after dark this week, then." Harry seemed overeager. "It won't interrupt your time with Julian. You can make it glow-" and the Snitch lit up at the word, startling Draco -"so we won't lose it. I'll bring two Firebolts."

"Whatever you say, Harry." Draco had learned not to agitate him when he was like this.

"Great. So we'll do that." Harry nodded decisively. "Ron never wants to fly anymore."

"And why doesn't Weasley want to fly?" Harry narrowed his eyes, and Draco groaned mentally. _Now you've done it. Good job Draco, another Harry Potter rant._

"He says it isn't fair to leave Ginny out, but she _definitely_ won't go flying, and then Ron and I have a row."

"He doesn't want to choose between his sister and his best friend," Draco offered, treading lightly.

It didn't work; Harry's face twisted in anger. "No, he just wants us to get back together. He doesn't understand that it's not going to happen. He wasn't _there._ "

"Does he live there still, or is he living with Granger?" Draco peered into the pram; Julian was fast asleep. _Good._

"They live with each other. Ron and Hermione fucked off to Australia directly after everything," Harry revealed. "It was only for two months, but it was enough for everything to start falling apart."

Harry began pacing the small cabin. "No one else was there for the whole bloody mess. It was just us three.  And then at the end, so many people were gone, and everyone was licking their wounds or just too plain traumatised to be functional, and Ginny and me... it was just too much. Too much of her and too much of me."

"You threw all your problems at each other," Draco surmised, "and made your entire relationship about those problems."

"I suppose. Then she went to Hogwarts for her seventh year, and things were OK when she visited, but then when she graduated she came home to find Julian there and... things were never the same after that."

"It isn't what she expected her life to be like." Draco could actually sympathise with the Weasellette.

"Well, I didn't either! It wasn't supposed to be like this!" Harry grew more agitated as his rant continued. "Things were supposed to fall into place after the war, I was supposed to be happy, with a family, with my _friends._ Not trying to find a place to live! Not rowing with my girlfriend and losing her! I was supposed to be fucking normal!"

Draco heard the unsaid _I wasn't supposed to be looking after a baby,_ and went on the defensive. "And I come back to the fact you _chose_ to look after Julian."

"And I have explained all that to you," Harry growled. "Don't pretend you didn't understand it. Actually, you seemed to understand it better than Ginny." He laughed, and it was hollow. "She would feel justified in that, I think."

"I would think she'd just be hurt."

Harry shook his head, and paced several more feet away before spinning back around.

"Ginny thinks I'm obsessed with you," he blurted out.

Draco was befuddled. "I... don't know what to say to that."

_Obsessed? He stalked me, yes. There may have been reason for that. And of course he still watches me strangely sometimes, almost as if I'm being... appraised, but he's just trying to feel me out._

"She says I only took Julian because he's your brother, so I would have a reason to talk to you."

"You've never needed a reason to seek me out, Potter. As I recall, we had fighting down to an art."

"Harry."

"Right." Draco had used last names deliberately, as he felt it gave him some distance in the increasingly uncomfortable conversation. "Look, I'm sure she's only jealous you're spending time up here."

"That's only been the last few months, though."

"Yes, but - I'm sorry, when did she you accuse of... this?"

"Which time?" Harry muttered. "Look, sorry, I know I'm taking up your time with Julian. I'll go."

"Wait, don't!-"

_Pop!_

"-fucking Disapparate yet," Draco finished to the empty air.

~~~

It was a stressful visit. Draco couldn't stop thinking about what Harry had said, and Julian was beginning to take his first few hesitant steps, so he had to be watched very carefully. Draco ended up taking him out on the lawn where he could tumble over on the soft grass without injury.

When Harry returned, Draco was batting the Snitch over to Julian with limited success.

"Maybe you have a future as a Beater," Draco said sceptically as Julian simply swatted dramatically at the Snitch. It went careening toward Harry, who bent down and easily plucked it from the air.

"Sorry about before," he said without preamble.

"Quite alright." Draco was willing to let the subject drop. The idea of Harry _obsessing_ over him made him feel very strange, almost lightheaded, and he didn't want to examine that.

"It's not. I don't have a clue what I'm doing with my life, but that's no reason to shout at you."

"You are holding yourself together by a thread, it seems," Draco agreed. _Stupid. Why would you say that? You just can't resist being right._

"Welcome to the 'Golden Age,'" Harry answered sarcastically. "That's what the _Prophet_ calls it now, you know. Never mind that the past two years have been utter crap for a lot of us."

"How _are_ you so calm, half the time, if the last two years have been such a nightmare? How do you take care of Julian so well?" Draco waved a hand at Potter's startled face. "You do, and you must know that."

"I'm awful," Harry protested. "I never take him out to meet magical children, I let _Kreacher_ feed and change him, I-"

"That's what elves do, you prat. You adore him. You take him to the park-"

"-the Muggle park-"

"-as if Julian cares about that, at his age."

Harry's mouth opened and closed wordless several times, before he managed, "Who are you and what have you done with Draco Malfoy?"

"I'm only saying. Julian seems like a happy baby. _You_ don't seem particularly happy, and I fully admit I wouldn't give a Jarvey's arse if it were just about you, but it's not. So I'm telling you that, at least in this one thing, you're doing fine."

"I wish... I wish I could give him to you," Harry said quietly, as if Julian would overhear and comprehend.

Draco bristled. _I want that as well, but how dare you._ "Tired of him already?"

"No!" Harry was aghast. "Not at all! But you love him so much, and he's your family, and... I think he knows, sometimes. The tension around the house. And at Grimmauld, he cries a lot. I just want to make everything alright for him."

Draco could only imagine, from the information he'd slowly gleaned from Harry. Molly Weasley would never be unkind to a child under her roof. But Julian had to be a reminder of things they'd lost, and without Harry's desperate orphan instincts, none of them had a real reason to love Julian.

"You could use the Manor," Draco said hesitantly. "It does belong to Julian, after all, and you're his caretaker." The idea of Harry traipsing through his childhood home was strange, but he pressed on. "The wards would recognise him. He may be comforted by them, even at such a young age."

"The wards?" Harry appeared puzzled. "You mean that keep people out?"

"They're so much more than that. You never did a blood ritual when you inherited the Black house?"

"No! What the hell?"

Draco scoffed. "No wonder you feel uncomfortable there. It hasn't been passed on in a proper manner. It must have been left to you in a will, and the wards left down, but you haven't really taken it over. It probably makes the hairs stand up on the back of your neck, yes?"

Harry regarded Draco with wonder. "Why didn't anyone tell me this?"

"Old Pure-blood traditions aren't exactly in fashion at the moment."

"I won't have to do that with Malfoy Manor, will I?"

The very thought made Draco feel ill. "Merlin, no. With the death of my father, the wards passed to me, and-"

_And I have no magic, so if they sought me out, they would find a blank space. Or would they? I am still a magical being, after all._

"-and to Julian, as his heirs. Adoption papers require a magical signature, do they not?"

"Yeah, there was a spell at the signing," Harry confirmed.

"Then as a recognised guardian, you can pass through the wards. You won't feel the warmth of them, as Julian or I would, but it won't feel like you're out of tune with the place."

"Out of tune," Harry mused. "That's a good way to describe Grimmauld. It's like if someone plays a phonograph at slightly the wrong speed."

"If you say so."

"I'll think about it," Harry declared, picking Julian up and putting him - with protests - into the pram, which had been magically expanded as he grew. "I'll see you Wednesday night?"

"Whatever for?"

Harry grinned. "Seeker's games!"

Draco blinked. "You were serious?"

"Well... yeah." Harry frowned. "Did you think I wasn't?"

"You do tend to ramble," Draco teased. Secretly he was anxious about playing Quidditch with Harry. Casual flying was one thing, being competitive was another.

Harry pulled out a battered straw hat, which was presumably a Portkey, although with him who knew. "Just for that, I won't go easy on you."

Draco chose not to respond, and simply waved to Julian as the Portkey swept them away.

~~~

Harry did not show on Wednesday night. Instead, he breezed into the cabin without knocking on Thursday, no explanation offered, and thrust a Firebolt at Draco.

"Come on," he said brusquely. "Bring the Snitch."

Draco followed wearily. He wasn't looking forward to a night of Harry beating him to the Snitch, working out whatever foul mood he was in. It had been a long day in the orchard, yet Draco also didn't feel he could decline.

As expected, Harry took the Snitch on the first two passes. He was still good, Draco had to admit: diving quickly, turning this way and that, outpacing and outmanoeuvring Draco easily. If it were true that he rarely flew, then Harry must have been out of practise, but it didn't show. All that talent really was natural, as McGonagall had suspected their first year.

Harry sat a broom as if he were born to it, and even in the moonlight Draco could see his muscles tense under his thin shirt, green eyes darting all around in search of a glint of gold. Draco had never been able to take his own eyes off of Harry during Quidditch matches, certainly not when Gryffindor played Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, and sometimes even during a Slytherin game. Flint had boxed him on the ear once. "That's for watching Potter's arse instead of the Snitch," he'd yelled at Draco. At the time it felt like a standard locker room insult. Now it made Draco blush to remember it. Involuntarily, his gaze wandered over to said arse.

_I suppose he's fit, in an objective sense._

It was strange to consider anyone like that after so long. As if he could hear Draco's thoughts, Harry pulled his broom up and glanced over, giving Draco a considering look of his own. Ruffled, Draco spun his broom eastward. At least he could enjoy the breeze; it had been an unseasonably hot day.

Suddenly a flash caught his attention - the Snitch! It had taken an eastward turn as well, and Draco was in perfect position to pluck it from the air. It was sheer dumb luck. Unable to help himself, he crowed in victory.

"I've got it! I beat you! Potter, I actually beat you!"

"First time for everything," Harry answered, a smile on his face despite the loss. "And back to Potter?"

"Hush. Julian isn't here. And I'm imagining the announcers: "Malfoy gets the Snitch! That's a devastating loss for Potter, of course, he'll be sacked from the team for sure."

Harry burst out laughing. "Sacked? For one loss? You'd have been sacked from Slytherin ages ago if that were true."

It was good-natured teasing, but it stung all the same, and Draco threw back the last retort he had in his memory.

"If you hadn't been so busy staring at my arse, you may have caught it yourself."

For one long moment, Harry simply hovered in front of Draco, seemingly staring right through him. Then:

"Fuck you, Malfoy."

He hurtled toward the ground, and Draco followed close behind.

"Potter - Harry, look, I didn't mean that -"

"I'm not _staring_ at you, you cunt-"

"There's no need for insults, Harry-"

"Shut up Gin!"

Stunned, Draco did shut up. Harry opened and shut his mouth several times, embarrassed, before throwing his broom aside and marching toward the cabin. Draco was hot on his heels, and beyond all his better judgement attempted to grab Harry's shoulder from behind.

That was a mistake.

Harry whirled on him, pulling his wand in one fluid move.

"Back the fuck off!"

Draco scrambled backward, hands raised in a placating manner. "I don't have my wand on me." _That's easier than explaining that I'm truly defenceless._

Breathing harshly, Harry finally lowered his wand. "Don't come up on me from behind, Malfoy."

Cautiously, Draco lowered his hands. "Draco, remember? I'm not your enemy. Not anymore." _Harry is a curse trap waiting to explode. Don't provoke him._

"You're still an arse. Why don't you have your wand?"

Draco shrugged, the lie coming easily. "No need. I can't use it for work."

"Aren't you scared?"

"Of what?" Draco was honestly curious. "There's no one out here."

"Never mind. I just never go without mine. I... I sleep with it under my pillow."

"The only person to pull a wand on me since my sentencing has been you. So unless I need to be afraid of _you,_ everything's fine."

"You... you don't need be afraid of me." Harry appeared contrite. "Sorry. Really."

"Hmm." Draco reached down for the Firebolt he'd dropped. "Here. I think Seeker's games are out for the evening."

Harry took the broom without a word, and stood with a Firebolt in each hand. Numbly, he turned away, before muttering, "It's just... that's what Ginny said."

Draco cocked his head, perplexed, trying to remember the last thing he'd said before Harry shouted his ex-girlfriend's name at him. "That there was no need for insults?"

"That I was staring at your arse."

"I... oh." _First she says he's obsessed with me, then he's checking me out. What a jealous little weasel._ "Marcus told me the same thing, if it makes you feel better."

"Why would that make me feel _better?_ " Harry wailed. "What is _wrong_ with us?"

Indignant, Draco shouted back. "With me? Nothing! It's just talk! Call the other team queer, call your friends bent, it doesn't mean anything!"

"I know it didn't mean anything! That's what I told her! It was just a kiss!"

"Fine then! I- what?" Words abandoned Draco. "Huh? Ki- kiss...?"

Harry turned completely red. "Not you, you git."

"Yes, I think I would remember that."

"Dean. She caught me kissing Dean." Harry's chin jutted out, a stubborn gleam in his eye, daring Draco to insult him. "It was just a _kiss,_ and we weren't even officially back together."

"You and Dean? I wasn't aware you were ever an item." Draco knew they weren't; he was grasping for a joke to diffuse the extremely uncomfortable situation. Harry glared, quite aware of what Draco was trying to do.

"Yeah. Well. Anyway, she never really let it drop. Even when we tried to make a go of it. And then when I took in Julian..."

_And there it is._

Suddenly, everything made sense. Ginny Weasley's jealousy of a baby, her anger at Harry for his dedication to a Malfoy child. A situation much more tense than simple post-war grief would have called for.

"She thinks you fancy me." Draco spoke in bewilderment, the words sounding just as strange out loud as they did in his head.

"She thinks I'm gay," Harry spat. "You're just convenient."

"Are you?" Draco wondered out loud.

"No!" Harry cried. "I don't-" He abruptly quieted. "I don't think so."

They stared at each other apprehensively, suddenly too close for Draco's comfort. His earlier musings on Harry's physique blared like a siren in his mind.

"Well, _I'm_ not!" he rushed out.

"I didn't say you were!"

"She obviously thinks it's a possibility, if she's so jealous!"

Harry shook his head. "She didn't used to be like this, but after everything, and losing Fred, she's just so _angry._ And I tried to tell her it's absurd, that you're _you_ , and I'm _me,_ but she just won't listen."

"Perish the thought," Draco said faintly. "Look," he added in a firmer voice, "I understand why you took Julian in. I think you're projecting a bit, but I get it. I've nothing to do with it, right?"

"Right." There was an edge of doubt in Harry's voice that nagged at Draco, but he ignored it.

"So just... ignore her."

"Easier said than done." Harry dropped both brooms and ran a hand through his hair, already tousled from the wind.

"I've got to get out of there. I love Molly, I do, but she can tell me and Ginny are always on the edge of a fight, and everyone else has loads of work to do, so they aren't around. And I _hate_ Grimmauld, I just hate it!"

"I told you, go to the Manor," Draco reasoned.

"It'd be weird. I don't know anything about it except... well, the dungeons." Draco glanced away quickly, remembering.

"Maybe..." Harry hesitated, before continuing, "maybe you could come, too?"

"I hate to tell you this, but I don't think moving in with me will do anything to dissuade your Weasley from her suspicions," Draco scoffed.

"Yeah, well, she had her chance," Harry said viciously. Draco was taken aback; this was not the loyal Gryffindor boy he'd known in school.

"I'm needed here," he said carefully.

"You'd see Julian more," Harry pleaded.

"I can't..."

_I can't open and close the wards, I can't use the library, or light a fire, or even fill the bath._

"I can't," Draco said decisively.

"Think about it."

Both of them fell silent. Finally, Harry coughed and said, "See you Sunday, then."

And as usual... Harry Disapparated.

"What the _fuck!_ " Draco cried out in frustration to the empty forest.

~~~

If Potter kept his promises, and he had so far, then he would be back in only a few days. As Draco completed his tasks around the farm the rest of the week, he took greater care to notice the things he had come to appreciate.

Pruning the trees and hauling mulch was hard, physical work, but there was a satisfaction in it. He took his lunch breaks under sprawling oaks and rowans, or low-hanging willows down by the burn. Birds called continuously, visible or not, and the air was always fresh.

In the gardens hedgehogs could be found, and if Draco occasionally fed them that was his business. Foxes and martens wandered the forest, and he considered himself lucky when he spied one. Overall it was vastly superior to hiding in the back of a stall in Diagon Alley, and he couldn't imagine returning there. But the Manor...

Draco's mind conjured the image of his last morning in the Manor with his mother: the dark sky over the gardens, the summer green of the trees, the strawberries red against her pale skin and her fluttering purple gown. The berries and honey at breakfast had come from their own grounds. Surely the gardens were overgrown from neglect, if the Manor had been shut up, and the peacocks had likely run riot. But he knew enough about caring for plants, both magical and not, that he could probably whip it back into shape.

He had come to enjoy Craik, against all his expectations. But the lure of the ancestral home that was stolen from him was too great to ignore.

 _Will the wards still recognise me? I can't raise them, but I can still feel the Muggle-repelling charms here, so the Manor wards could be the same._ He shivered in pleasure at the recollection of their warmth and spark.

_Am I actually considering this? I'll have to confess. There's no way I can hide my predicament in a house run on magic, even if the elves do everything for me._

Draco shuddered at the thought of revealing his lack of magic to Harry. Not only would the other boy accuse him of lying for all this time - and it wasn't lying, it was _omission_ \- Harry probably thought Draco had got what he deserved.

But Draco's numb acceptance of his fate was borne of necessity, not of any sense of justice. He emphatically did _not_ think he had deserved to lose all hint of his magic. Talking about it would surely raise his hackles, and he knew with the certainty of a Seer that there would be an argument as a result.

No. It was best that he stay put. And if his dreams that night turned to long happy days in the Manor, caring for his brother in a house that had been quite literally built for them, that was no ones business but his own.

~~~

Julian's visit that Sunday was exhausting. The wards on the sheep pen fell and Draco was obliged to chase them down and fix the fence by hand, all while trying to wrangle a child that emphatically did not want to stay in his pram, which had of late been Transfigured to resemble a small pen itself.

"No, Day! Nnnnoo!" Julian protested as Draco pushed him gently back inside, a lamb struggling under his other arm. "Nnnnn!" His brother reached for the soft lamb.

_Children are easier when they aren't mobile!_

"This isn't for grabbing, or biting, knowing you. Just wait and I'll let you pet the sheep through the fence when they're all safe and sound, hmm?" The lamb bleated, and Julian screwed up his face, a tantrum imminent. "What's got into you today?" He was usually such a well behaved child.

Once the sheep were safely ensconced in the pen, Draco led Julian over and showed him how to press his tiny fingers into their wool without yanking. "Soft, yes?" Julian simply nodded, 'soft' not yet being in his vocabulary. A small bit of wool came away in his grasping hand, and he tried to put it in his mouth.

"Alright then, I think it's time for us to head back," Draco said, shaking his head in consternation as he took the wool away.

"Nnnn!"

"It's nap time for you, little man."

Only the lure of a bottle made Julian sit still once they returned to the cabin. Draco collapsed on the bed beside him, worn out. The threat of a tantrum past, Julian tossed the bottle over the bed and curled up on his side. _I'll get that later,_ Draco thought as he held his brother and closed his eyes, just for a moment.

He must have fallen into a deeper sleep than he intended, because when he opened his eyes again, it was darker outside and Harry was standing in the doorway of the cabin.

"Been here long?" Draco asked, and Harry jumped.

"Er, sorry." Harry waved his hand, embarrassed. "You two... you look sweet together. I didn't want to disturb you."

"He's probably not going to sleep well for you tonight after such a long nap. Sorry about that." Julian began to stir, and Draco ruffled his hair. "We went to see the sheep, didn't we? And _someone_ tried to eat wool."

Harry laughed. "Oh, Jules. So many things in the world to put in your mouth, so little time." He entered the cabin and began to gather up Julian's belongings, including the bottle on the floor, as Draco roused him fully.

"Up we go, time to go home with Harry."

"You know," Harry said carefully, "there are a lot of new things for him to attempt eating at the Manor."

"Decided to take my advice, then?" Regardless of his own presence, Draco _did_ want Julian to live in the home that was his by right.

"Did you think about my offer?" Harry countered.

"It's one of the worse ideas you've had, so no."

"I think I've had worse ideas," Harry said with a dark look.

"I'm sure," Draco answered dryly. "But this one ranks up there."

"You'll be with Julian all the time," Harry pleaded. "Don't you want that?"

It was completely manipulative, but Draco _did_ want that. He also wanted his old bed, his gardens, his vast and wonderful bath. Time and distance from the Manor had eased the memory of those terrifying last years there, with the Dark Lord in residence, and left only the nostalgia.

"Drop it, Harry," he warned, afraid of his own desire to give in as much as he was annoyed with Harry for his insistence.

"I won't." Harry's jaw set stubbornly.

"Fuck, at least drop it for today," Draco said wearily. "It's been a long one."

Harry moved Julian into his floating pram-turned-pen. "For today, then. I'm going to ask you again, though."

"Ugh, whatever you say." Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on.

Harry allowed the pen to float ahead of him through the door, then turned back. The words seemed to stick in his throat, but he managed them. "I just want you there with us." He left before Draco could answer.

Not that Draco had anything to say to that.

 _He *wants* me there. He wants help with Julian, he wants me to rant at, to lay his problems at my feet. He may even... want_ me _, in some strange way. I cannot give in to this._

~~~

Tuesday evening, a knock on the door pulled Draco away from his supper. _That can't be Jack, can it? He's avoided me even more than usual since Harry began to visit._

Speak of the devil. Harry Potter stood outside.

"What are you doing here?" Draco sighed.

"Have you given any more thought to what I asked you?" Harry pushed past Draco without waiting for an invite.

"Harping on it won't make me change my mind, nor will showing up on my doorstep uninvited."

"You're being a stubborn arse! Julian would really benefit from-"

"Don't make this all about Julian," Draco spat. "You obviously want me around for yourself as well, Merlin knows why." He waved his hand at Harry, cutting him off before he could answer. "To help you raise him, yes I know. But it's more than that. You want me around to listen to your troubles, a captive audience."

Harry laughed sharply. "You're a terrible listener. I'd be barking if I wanted you around for that."

"And yet you continually force your presence on me." Harry's presence wasn't entirely unwelcome was the problem, and Draco was angry and embarrassed about how much he actually looked forward to his visits.

"Force? I'm the only adult you ever get to talk to!"

"I didn't ask for your companionship!

"You just don't know how to," Harry said smugly. "But I know you want to see me."

"You don't know anything."

"We've never been able to ignore each other," Harry reasoned. "We may as well accept it."

"Sure, we didn't ignore each other. We fought each other, nearly _killed_ each other. You constantly got one over on me, in school and after. Maybe I _want_ to ignore you now!" Draco threw his hands up in frustration. "But I can't even win at that!"

"It's always about _winning_ with you. You'll never be happy until you've defeated me somehow."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Any chance I ever had of that is gone."

A strange expression passed over Harry's face. "Lets try it!"

"Try what?" Draco asked in a tired voice. "I won the Snitch a while back. Let's just call it even."

"No. _Accio_ hawthorn wand!" Draco's wand came flying out of the drawer and smacked into Harry's palm. He thrust it forward. "Take it!" he insisted. "Take it and fight me!"

Draco was appalled. "I'm not going to _duel_ you!" _Even if I could, how stupid would I have to be to duel the saviour of the Wizarding World?_

Harry simply planted his feet, "Are you a coward?" He startled for a moment at his own words, then narrowed his eyes and fixed his stance.

This was getting old. Harry would never drop it, would he? He would push and push until Draco was forced to show his hand, to admit he could cast no spells at all. Then he would be at Harry's mercy, even more so than now, and have to beg him not to tell another soul, lest Draco be sent to Azkaban for violating his agreement.

"You reprehensible _arse_ ," Draco hissed back. "I can't fight you."

"Can't duel without Dark magic?"

"I can't duel!" Furious, Draco took several steps forward and simply smacked the holly wand out of Harry's hand.

They both stared open mouth at each other for a moment, before Harry asked hesitantly, "Does that count as disarming me?"

"It doesn't matter," Draco responded wearily. "I can't be the master of your wand. It won't recognise me."

Confusion was writ across Potters face. "Because I've already disarmed _you?_ " he queried.

_He'll never let it rest._

"Because I have no magic for it to recognise," Draco revealed, at long last. It felt like having the breath punched out of him.

An eternity must have passed as Potter tried to work out what he meant. "They bound... _all_ of your magic?"

"No, Potter. They took it away. They _took_ all of my magic."

"That's not... how is that possible? Isn't it part of you?"

"Apparently not. I can sense wards, I can see the Leaky Cauldron. But I can't cast even the simplest spell. I can't Apparate. I can't use a wand. That thing you hold in your hand, it's useless to me."

"You're a Squib," Harry whispered almost to himself.

"Thank you for pointing that out," Draco answered bitterly. "But yes, in effect.  I'm a danger, don't you see. Can't be trusted."

"That's awful." The look of horror on Harry's face was real, and Draco faltered.

"Aren't you angry with me?"

"For what? I can't imagine you wanted this."

"For... not telling you. For lying all this time."

"I wouldn't want to talk about it, either, if it were me."

Draco was unsure what to do with Harry's sympathy. _I really thought he'd be upset with me. Was all my worrying for nothing?_ "You don't think I got what I deserved?"

"No! That's... no, Draco." Harry shook his head fiercely. "No one deserves that. They shouldn't have been allowed to hurt you that way. And you didn't even go to prison, how could they justify it? Why didn't they just bind you like they said they did?"

"They broke my connection to the Manor when they stripped me of my magic. That's the price I paid to stay out of Azkaban. They would have done it to my mother, as well, had she not died in childbirth. Only Julian kept our property from the Ministry."

Harry screwed up his face. "Is that why your parents had another baby? That's cold, Draco."

"Shut up, you arse. My mother loved him," Draco swore fervently. "And she did her duty."

"You love him, too. My God, he's your replacement, basically. That doesn't make you angry?"

"How can you ask me that!" Draco cried out. "I love that boy more than life itself. He's my _brother._ I don't care _why_ my parents decided to do what they did."

"This is why you should come live with us," Harry reasoned, speaking calmly as Draco grew more agitated. "You can be with Julian, and I can protect you."

Draco laughed hollowly. "Protect me? From what? I'm fine up here."

"You don't have magic!"

"And the Saviour thinks he needs to defend poor little helpless me?" Draco sneered. "I'm fine, thanks."

"I'm sure you are. But... fucking hell, Draco. Your _magic._ " Harry looked just as bereft as Draco had on the day the ritual was performed on him. Part of Draco found the sympathy touching. But he was also terrified of the power Harry now held over him.

"You can't tell anyone, ever," he asserted. "They'll send me straight to Azkaban. It was an agreement I signed."

"And you... trust me with that?"

"I have to, I suppose. You forced my hand."

Harry didn't even have the grace to look sorry. "Were you afraid I'd find out, then? Is that why you don't want to come live with me?"

"The number of reasons I have to not live with you are far too innumerable to count."

"And the one reason you do have trumps all of those," Harry insisted. "Come home, Draco. Come live with your brother."

"And you." Draco bent down to retrieve the holly wand from the floor, and held it out. "Here. Honestly, I don't know what I was thinking when I suggested you go there, you can't have fond memories of the place."

"No, I don't," Harry said carefully, taking his wand back and holding out Draco's. "But it's the easiest solution."

Draco glanced between his old wand and Harry. "It's useless to me."

"Take it anyway," Harry insisted. "It's yours." Draco grasped the wand gently, and his heart clenched at the lack of recognition there, just as it had when Harry first returned it.

"I need," Harry began, before pausing to run a shaking hand through his hair. "I need to be alone, to think. About what I want to do next; if it's the Aurors, or curse-breaking, or Quidditch, or something else entirely. And I need some space to do that. I thought it was stupid as well, at first, me going to the Manor. But I mentioned it to Hermione, and she was logical about it. I would have thought she, of all people, would never want to go near there again. But it's just a house. A house without an elf that hates me, or awful cursed objects rolling around it-"

"You think?" Draco drawled, and Harry huffed impatiently.

"It wasn't abandoned for years like Grimmauld. I wager your mum used to throw parties and entertain people, yeah?" Draco nodded begrudgingly. "Well, there you go. I don't think Walburga entertained anything but thoughts of murder."

Draco laughed at that, and Harry pressed on. "And it belongs to Julian, and it's big enough I can get a bit lost inside. And... I'm sure, without Voldemort living there, it's really nice looking."

Draco nodded. "It's quite elegant. There's a library, and a music room, and beautiful gardens..." He trailed off as memories flooded back.

"Don't you want Julian to grow up with the things you did?"

"I didn't say you couldn't take him there alone. And as I recall, you thought I was a spoiled brat."

"That's because you didn't think about other people. But being rich doesn't have to make you selfish. I've got loads of money."

"Buy a house then?" Draco suggested weakly. _Merlin help me, I am actually considering this._

"More bother trying to find one. I want to make things simpler, not more complicated." Harry leaned back; they'd been standing stock still directly opposite one another for the entire conversation, and Draco found that he suddenly wanted space. He spun on his heel and flopped down on the bed as Harry continued.

"I hate to call in a favour, but I've done a lot for you, reuniting you with Julian. Please, Draco, help me out here. Help me with Julian, help me navigate that house."

Draco meant to tell Harry no again, he really did. But over and over he heard: _They shouldn't have been allowed to hurt you that way._

Oh, to have at least one person who didn't think he was evil, who didn't think he'd got what was coming to him. Before he could change his mind, Draco answered decisively. "Promise you won't keep Julian from me if this fails spectacularly?"

"You know I never would. But yes, I promise." Harry's eyes gleamed, a pleased smile coming to his face.

"Salazar help me, I cannot believe I am agreeing to this." The smile widened, and it made Harry look even more handsome.

"Brilliant!"

Draco waved at Harry to dismiss him. "I have to settle things here first. It will probably take a week, or more."

"That's fine," Harry rushed out. "Just let me know."

"Yes, yes. I will." Draco lay back on the bed and threw his arm over his face. When he peeked out, Harry was still standing there grinning stupidly. "You can do that abrupt Disapparation thing you do anytime now."

The _crack_ didn't frustrate Draco this time.

~~~

_Yet again, everything happens at once._

Jack didn't protest as much as Draco thought he would. Ever since Harry had begun visiting, he'd avoided the cabin, but he still benefited from Draco's work. Maybe he knew another sad Squib who could replace Draco quickly. Lacey was nowhere to be seen. The people who employed him, who ostensibly saved him, didn't care where he went or what became of him.

It was bittersweet, leaving the place that had become his home. Unlike the people, the trees and animals of Craik had accepted Draco easily. The hedgehogs didn't judge him, only cared if he set out bowls of cream. The magical oaks and elms had sparked at his touch, giving him a much needed connection to the truth of his soul - that he was a wizard, no matter what the Ministry said.

Draco took the long path back from the farmhouse, winding down to the burn and back up around the hill. Mentally, he bade goodbye to the foxes, which pleased him more than the Manor peacocks ever had. When he was younger, he had imagined that his Patronus might be a fox. When he told Lucius, his father had scoffed and told him the Patronus Charm was for weak wizards who could not hold their own in a duel.

Draco suspected he just didn't want to admit that he could not cast one himself.

_Of course, I'll never know what could have been._

The cabin was easily packed: tea, tiny mementos from the forest, clothes and other practical items. Draco almost left the matches, but threw them in his satchel at the last minute. Maybe there would be a night he wanted a candle, and didn't want to disturb Holkey.

_I'm sure Potter would be proud of me, thinking about the well-being of an elf._

There was nothing else to do. Already Hogwarts was fading in his memory, and he'd spent nearly seven years there. How long would it take for Craik to blur in his thoughts as well?

The Portkey, a brochure for some Muggle museum in London, would activate any minute. It was time.

Time to go home.


	6. Natura non facit saltum

**Part II: VARIATION UNDER NATURE**

_Divergence of Character, related to the diversity of inhabitants of any small area, and to naturalisation._

 *

 

Returning to the Manor was like exhuming a grave.

The Portkey had brought him inside the gates, thankfully, as it was likely Harry didn't know a wand was required to ring the bell. The front entrance of the Manor was never locked - why would it be? The wards around the property were among the strongest in Britain.

Draco reminded himself to breathe before opening the large double doors. As they creaked open, he frowned - his mother would never have allowed that to happen. Inside, however, everything seemed as it had before - normal. No cobwebs, no coating of dust. Draco wasn't sure what he'd expected.

_A crypt. I expected a crypt._

Stepping over the threshold, Draco was assaulted with memories. When he'd left, he didn't know if his mother was alive or dead.

_She would be dead, eventually._

He didn't know if the Wizengamot would go through with his sentence.

_Of course they did, the rotted old cunts._

And he didn't know if he'd ever return to the Manor.

_I suspected not. Leave it to Potter to turn everything on its ear._

The air was stale, and there was no fire in the great hearth that usually welcomed guests into the entrance hall. Slowly, Draco closed the doors on their shrieking hinges and made his way inside. He made it about 20 feet before Holkey appeared, her eyes wider than he'd ever seen them.

"Master Draco is being home!"

"I... yes," he answered dumbly, unsure of how to conduct himself now that he was technically a guest. "Have you been here this entire time, Holkey?"

The elf nodded vigorously. "Oh yes. The house is being kept, waiting for young Master Julian."

Draco cocked his head. "They aren't here yet?" Tears rose in Holkey's eyes as she shook her head 'no.' "Leave it to Harry to be late even after hounding me into coming. Wait, how do you know about Julian, then? Did someone come and tell you?" _I doubt house-elves are high on the Ministry's priority list, even with Granger surely arguing for their rights._

"The fresco," Holkey answered proudly. How could Draco have forgotten? There was a painted fresco in the West Wing that portrayed the entire Malfoy line, all the way back to Armand. Any new family members appeared as soon as they were born. It was blood magic, and frowned on by some who didn't understand tradition, but not illegal. Just one more thing that Julian would be able to touch and learn about, growing up surrounded by his heritage.

Just one more thing he had forgotten about.

As he headed up towards his bedroom to unpack, Draco's doubts about coming to the Manor began to lessen. Despite it being the site of some of the most terrifying moments in his life, it was also where some of his fondest memories were born. Merlin, it was where _he_ was born, on a warm June day in his mother's private rooms. He knew every turn of the staircase under his feet, the banister under his palm, the way the light moved through the windows.

And he could _feel the wards._

No words could truly describe it. Whole? Complete? Embraced? That's it _\- embraced._ He couldn't reach out with his magic and affect them, but they were _there,_ and for a moment Draco was overwhelmed with relief. They had been wrong. The Ministry thought that Malfoy Manor would never reach out to a Squib, that his worth was defined by his magic, but it was his very being that the house called out to.

They were _wrong._ He was giddy with it.

His room was just as he left it, although the sticking charm had worn off the Tornados poster and it fluttered feebly, hanging on by one corner. The air in here was stale as well; Holkey had dusted but never opened a window, apparently. Draco threw all of them wide open, and set his suitcase beside the desk. He was just about to head for the ensuite when Holkey appeared with a _crack._

"Master Harry has arrived, sir."

Harry was still standing in the entranceway when Draco came down the stairs. He glanced all around, befuddled.

"I don't remember it being so... large." He seemed impressed, and Draco found his mother's words coming from his mouth.

"The Hall was painted in the current fashion in 1823. It's meant to convey a spaciousness, yet still appear welcoming."

Harry laughed ruefully. "I meant it seemed smaller with Snatchers all crowded around me, but thanks for the guided tour, I guess."

Draco deflated, searching for something - anything - to stop that conversation in its path. "If you'd like a guided tour, that will be twelve Sickles." The weak attempt at humour worked, and Harry smiled.

"Maybe later. I need to get your Floo restarted. Julian is a lot better with fireplaces these days, so it seemed easier than getting two Portkeys. Hermione is going to bring him over from Grimmauld Place."

"Is she going to be..." Draco trailed off, focusing on a fleur de lis painted on the wall instead.

"OK coming back here?" Harry offered, shrugging. "I don't think she would have volunteered if it was an issue. Hermione's the strongest person I know."

Draco wasn't sure how he felt about seeing Granger again. _Harry gave as good as he got in school. But other than one slap, Granger never really got to retaliate against me over the... unpleasant things I said to her. Not to mention what Aunt Bella put her through._

Harry noticed Draco's hesitation and bristled immediately, chin tilting up.

"Think you're too good for Hermione now you're back in your fancy house? I thought you wanted to thank her. You've said it twice," Harry bit out, back on the defensive.

"I said you could tell her for me. I have no desire to meet Granger face to face in what you have to admit is uncomfortable territory."

"You'll have to see her eventually. Hermione's a big part of my life."

" _Your_ life."

Harry stood firm, framed by the doorway, not yet venturing further into the Manor. "I'm part of your life now too, whether you like it or not."

Gallingly, Harry was right. Draco had signed up for this, hadn't he, by sharing space with one third of the famed Gryffindor Trio. The others were bound to turn up in time. He could still put it off, though.

"Regardless," Draco sniffed, "I'd like to be presentable for my brother, so I'll be otherwise occupied."

Harry snorted. "Julian couldn't care less what you look like."

" _I_ care. In any case, it's been a long time since I took an actual bath and not a shower in sun-warmed water, so I'll be upstairs." Almost unconsciously, Draco touched his hair, which was much less silky than it had been when he had access to conditioners and creams. He also had been forced to trim it on his own repeatedly and couldn't bring himself to pull the mirror back out from under the bed.

Harry noticed, eyes following the path Draco's fingers traced. "Why's it look like that anyway? All uneven."

 _Uncouth as always, and staring again._ "It was cut short haphazardly and grew back the same," Draco snapped. "Surprisingly, there aren't any hairdressers on the farm."

"They didn't cut it off at the Ministry, did they?" Harry asked in a protective tone that took Draco aback.

"Er, no," Draco managed, not wanting Harry to get the wrong idea. "And that was two years ago. I've trimmed it myself several times since then."

"It's longer, though. Than it was in school."

Indeed, Draco's hair currently swung below his chin, and he tucked a piece behind his ear. Harry's eyes followed the movement. "I only cut it when it gets too hot on the back of my neck. There's no one to impress."

_Liar. You'll always want to impress him._

They stared awkwardly at each other. "I'd better meet Hermione at the Floo," Harry finally said, after an uncomfortable moment or three, and Draco fled up the stairs toward the relative safety of his bedroom.

As he expected, the hot bath was pure bliss. Holkey was more than happy to fill it, and she added his favourite rose-scented bubbles without being asked. Even after two years of caring for himself, Draco had slipped back into his role with unexpected ease, ordering the old elf around without a glance.

 _The taps require magic, so it's not like I could have done it myself,_ he reasoned. _And she enjoys being told what to do, after all. She must have been bored to tears here, with only Delby for company, and he hates to leave the kitchen._

After a good long soak, Draco put on a pair of soft trousers that had been left in the wardrobe all this time, and a cosy jumper he'd managed to find in Teviothead. The trousers were just a bit snug in the arse, filled by the muscle he'd gained from walking all over the farm. He'd have to get Holkey to alter them later.

As he made his way back downstairs, voices from the blue parlour caught his attention. He crept up to the door, feeling stupid skulking about in his own house, but he wasn't ready to be seen.

"...and I told him he was being silly, but that's Ron for you. He'll come next time, I'm sure."

"Yeah. Sure."

The problem with eavesdropping was the lack of visual cues. Harry sounded like he was anything but sure about Weasley's eventual visit, but did his face give that away, or only his tone? Draco had to settle for hearing the conversation on its own, as Granger continued.

"He's very busy, everyone in the department is. The fact they have the apprentices out on assignment just goes to show how serious this has become. Unstable magic anomalies, several people in St. Mungo's over the last few weeks - I'm concerned, we all are."

"Is the Department of Mysteries overworked, too?"

"Hmm, not as much as you would think. Of course, in Arithmancy we've been working round the clock to figure out what made the dead spot in the Atrium. But the other Unspeakables are nowhere to be seen."

"Isn't that normal for them?"

"Outside of the Department, yes. But you would think Time or even Death would send some people."

_So Granger became an apprentice with the Department of Mysteries? Makes sense, she couldn't stand the thought of knowledge being hidden from her._

"Well, I'm glad to have Jules here safe and sound," Harry said fondly, and a small giggle let Draco know that his brother was indeed there. "He needs somewhere to call his own."

"I suppose," Granger answered. "I do think you needed to move. But now I'm wondering if you shouldn't have just bought your own house, a new one."

"I know this place creeps you out, Hermione. But if I didn't bring him here, he'd just grow up curious about his family, and want it even more," Harry added, wistfully.

"I know you feel that way, Harry," Granger said, unexpectedly gentle, and Draco suspected she was talking about Harry projecting his own despair over his lost family. "And I must admit, Julian has certainly benefited from visiting Draco. He rarely has crying fits anymore."

_Crying fits? Harry said he cried at Grimmauld, but not that he had 'fits.'_

"Honestly, I think this will be good for Draco, too."

"And that matters to you?" Merlin, Draco wished he could see her face.

"Of course. Draco and I are friends, now."

Draco nearly gave himself away with a huff of surprise. Fortunately, Julian started to babble.

"Day?"

"He's not here yet, Jules."

"Day!"

Harry laughed affectionately. "He's coming, I promise."

There was a lull in the conversation, and then Harry's voice echoed out into the hallway again. "You don't think I'll get Draco in trouble, do you? Having him in the Manor. I asked about his probation, it didn't actually say he couldn't come here, just took away any ownership rights."

"I'm sure it will be fine," Granger sighed. "I know you hate it, but the Aurors would bend over backwards for you. Robards and Kingsley still want you to join."

"I'm still worried, though. The Ministry wasn't good to him, they-" Harry ceased speaking abruptly, and it took all of Draco's patience to not storm in and slap a hand over his big mouth.

Nothing in Hermione's voice indicated that she'd noticed. "They didn't put him Azkaban, at least. You know, records of all the sentences have been sealed. It's very strange."

"Yeah. Strange." Another pause. "I'm glad we're all here together."

"You know," Granger hedged, "I don't completely understand what you're doing here. But I am relieved that you finally made _some_ kind of decision. You've been like an unmoored ship, Harry. You do nothing but react to the waves, rather than steering a course. It isn't like you."

 _No, that's like me,_ Draco thought, eager to hear Harry's response to the accusation.

"I'm just tired of all the expectations," was the weary response. "I can't satisfy everyone, so I'm just going to try to satisfy myself."

"And this is what... satisfies you? Living in this place with Draco Malfoy?"

"And Julian, yes. I think it can, at least. Fuck's sake, Hermione, I only just got here. Ask me again in a month."

"Don't curse, little ears are present," she responded mildly. "Alright then, Harry. Let me know if you need anything."

"I will. Thank you, Hermione. Send Ron my love."

"I will."

The Floo whooshed, and Draco counted to a hundred before he sauntered into the room.

"Hello, sweet."

Julian clapped his hands together. "Day!"

Harry had a small smile on his face. "Sweet, huh?"

"Hush. You know I mean this little man." Draco swept his brother up into his arms. "Would you like a tour of your home?"

"Mind if I tag along?" Harry asked, already rising to his feet from the settee. Abruptly Draco remembered sitting there with his mother, crying after they learned of their sentences. "Draco?" Harry asked, reaching out unthinkingly before snatching his hand away. "What's wrong?"

Draco shook his head, banishing the memory as he had become used to doing. "I... yes, of course, follow us. It's your home now, too."

The blue parlour was on the ground floor, so Draco wound his way back out into the entrance hall, followed by Harry and Julian's floating pram. "This is the heart of the Manor," he explained. "Can you feel the wards, Harry?"

"They were keyed to me when I got custody of Julian, yeah."

"You can open the locks, so to speak, yes. But it's different for us. Here, I want to try something." Draco lifted Julian out of the pram and went to the centre of the room, where a large star-shaped mosaic covered the floor. Julian's eyes went wide, and darted around as if looking for something. As Draco came to stand directly on the star, Julian suddenly went very still; he yawned and seemed to fall asleep on the spot. Draco sighed in contentment.

"What's happening?" Harry wondered out loud.

"He can sense the house magic. He doesn't know what it means of course, only that it feels..."

 _Imagine your mother holding you, while your father praises you, and you somehow know that nothing is wrong in the world and nothing can hurt you._ Draco couldn't say that to Harry, who had never known his mother's embrace. "It feels like completion," he said instead, knowing that word was inadequate.

"And you can still... sense that, too?"

"I can, yes. I don't think the Ministry expected that. Honestly, my mother didn't either. She thought without magic the house would ignore us, or expel us."

"That's because she thought magic makes a person better than those without it." The smug look on Harry's face was ruining Draco's moment.

"Well, as you can see, it still recognises my _blood._ " It was a low blow; Draco didn't believe being Pure-blood made him more deserving of life or happiness anymore, and hadn't for a long while.

"Well, my Half-blood self is living here, so it better get used to me," Harry flung back.

Draco frowned as Julian stirred in his arms. "Harry, look. That wasn't meant as an insult." _Although I knew you'd take it that way, so there._ "I simply meant that blood matters, in a purely practical sense, when it comes to old magic like this."

Harry crossed his arms stubbornly. "You keep telling yourself that."

"The Manor recognised Half-blood Malfoy spouses quite willingly, back in the day." _I love seeing his face go red like that, when I shock him,_ Draco thought triumphantly.

"No way," Harry protested. "It's all about blood purity with you people-"

"You people?!"

Harry faltered, taking a step back. "Maybe - maybe not you, any longer. But all those old families."

"If you're referring to the Blacks, that dragon certainly came back to bite them, didn't it? Mad, disowned and died out." Draco wandered back over to Harry. "No, they were too dogmatic. Even my mother agreed in the end, and she was a Black herself. A long time ago, power could still be found among prominent Muggle families, and Half-bloods from those families were acceptable marriage partners."

"When did that change? You were a right shit about all that Pure-blood stuff in school."

"When the Statute of Secrecy was written and Muggles decided to kill us for sport," Draco said bluntly.

Harry fell silent. "I don't know a lot of history," he finally admitted. "But it's too bad all that happened, then. Maybe you and I could have even been friends."

_That's where his mind goes? Not to the consequences of sequestering ourselves, or the danger we faced for centuries? To how it would have affected us personally?_

Draco placed the now alert Julian back in his pram. "I wouldn't have been allowed to marry _you,_ of course," he teased. "Not unless your mother had been someone of importance in the Muggle world."

Harry laughed, a full, rich sound in the echoing entrance hall." _That_ would have been the objection, huh?"

~~~

In the end, Julian was settled into a room halfway between Draco's and the room Harry chose for himself. It had been used for a nursery before, and the Manor seemed pleased it was being put to use again. More than once had Draco come in to check on Julian, only to find that a window had mysteriously shut when rain or a chill wind began.

Harry's chosen room hadn't been occupied regularly in over three hundred years. The last resident had been Violetta Marchand, sister of Blanche Marchand, who had married into the Malfoy family and brought her beloved sister along to England for fear of being lonely.

"She haunted this room for fifty years, before an exorcism was performed," Draco had told Harry when he picked the room.

"How'd she die?" Harry asked, stepping across the threshold. He tried to hide his fascination with the Manor, but wasn't successful.

"Poison. Self-administered, most likely. They say she fell in love with her sister's husband."

"An irresistible Malfoy, eh?" Harry had grinned, before shutting the door in Draco's face.

"Irresistible," Draco now muttered to himself. "Drops a word like that, then fucks off for two weeks just 'getting a feel for the place,' he says. Shows up at dinner, barely dressed for the occasion, then disappears to god knows where."

"You sound tense."

Draco stopped short, jostling Julian in his arms. "Who's there?"

"'Tis only me." A woman in pearls and a lace-collared dress waved out from a portrait, and Draco approached.

"I don't think we've met. Isn't this Brutus' portrait?"

"I am his sister Octavia. We have a family portrait in the house of my descendants where I spend most of my time."

Draco nodded. "Octavia Malfoy, married into the House of Wittlesbach in the 17th century."

"You remember your lessons." Octavia smiled at Julian. "Hold him up so I may see him." Draco did, but Julian hid his face.

"He's not used to portraits, I'm afraid."

"My youngest did the same."

_That's right, she died in childbirth. The only way her son would have met her is by speaking to a portrait._

Draco had not yet taken Julian to see the portrait of Lucius and Narcissa that hung in the drawing room. Aside from the fact he was too young to understand, Draco didn't think he could bear it himself.

Julian whined, and Draco put him down. The pram needed to be re-charmed to float alongside, and since Draco couldn't do that, he'd been carrying Julian in his arms out to the garden.

"When he's older I'll take him for a full walk down the gallery."

Octavia nodded. "That is tradition, of course."

"What brings you to the Manor today?" Draco asked curiously.

"Word of mouth through scattered Malfoy portraits tells me the wards have been keyed to allow someone who is not a member of the family come and go as they please. A Half-blood."

Draco's hackles rose. "Harry brought us home." _I can insult him all I like, but he's mine to insult._

"Harry?" Octavia's laughter sparkled out of the portrait. "You misunderstand. I assumed you had become betrothed, and left behind all that silly Pure-blood nonsense. I didn't realise it was a boy." She cocked her head." _Are_ you betrothed? I confess I don't know if that's become custom."

Draco flushed. "I assure you it's not." He squirmed under her knowing gaze. "Why do you care?"

"I wasn't disowned for my choices, nothing so gauche as that, but my brother never approved of my marriage. Joseph was a wizard, but his parents were not. Things were more mingled in those days, but they were also more dangerous. As a daughter, my marriage didn't matter as much, but Brutus was incensed. He began to push for more isolation, and the persecution in England was a perfect excuse."

"It was more than an excuse," Draco argued. "They burnt us at the stake."

"In any case, he went against the family and voted for the Statute, and you know the rest. But he's out of his portrait for the moment, so I thought I'd nip by and see what all the fuss was about."

"No fuss," Draco explained. "Harry is here for Julian."

"Only Julian? Why?"

"He... helps me care for him." The entire story was too long to relate to a portrait.

"You are raising a baby together? Yet you say you aren't betrothed."

"We aren't!" The mirth in Octavia's eyes irritated Draco. "Go on then, back to your portrait in Bavaria, I assume. You've seen what you came for."

Octavia's giggles as she glided out of frame seemed too young, too modern for a woman who lived hundreds of years ago. Draco rolled his eyes and looked down to find Julian gnawing on the fringed end of a woven picture of a griffin.

"Julian Antares," he said sternly. "We do not chew on the tapestries."

"What did you call him?" Draco whirled around, he hadn't heard Harry come up.

"His name." Draco still wasn't going to call him 'Jules,' inoffensive as it was. Sometimes it pleased him simply to be contrary with Harry.

"No, the other one. Is that a nickname?"

Draco felt his stomach drop. "Did they never tell you his full name?" In all their conversations it had somehow never come up.

"No, they - stop it, Jules - just said Narcissa had called him Julian." Harry leaned down and pulled the tapestry away from the tiny hands that were trying to grab it again. He looked pained. "They only told me after I pushed. I didn't want to have to think up a name on my own."

Draco closed his eyes against the memories that threatened to overwhelm him. His mother sadly asking what he would have named a son. The nurse making him leave Julian, only hours old, in the nursery at St. Mungo's. The knowledge he would never have a family of his own.

"His name is Julian Antares Malfoy." His locked his eyes with Harry's, daring him to call Julian a 'Potter.'

Harry hoisted Julian up, away from the tassel that he refused to ignore. "Julian Antares, huh?" He tactfully avoided the last name. "What does it mean?"

"The brightest star in the constellation of Scorpius."

Harry fell silent. "It's a Black name, then," he finally said. "Like Sirius."

"Like Regulus, like Andromeda. Like _Bellatrix_ ," Draco spat out. He refused to tell Harry why his mother had chosen that particular star. That was his secret. His burden to bear.

Harry regarded him coolly, and then held Julian out; Draco took him unthinkingly. His little brother curled up in his arms immediately.

"Like Draco," Harry said inscrutably, before walking away.

Draco felt a tug as Julian moved on from the tassels to his hair. "Stop that, little star." The impulsive nickname felt right, as Julian did in his arms. "You're a fierce scorpion, eh? Well, I'm a dragon. Don't taunt me." Draco made a face like a snarling dragon, and Julian giggled. "You laugh now, but just you wait. I'll tickle you until you never pull my hair again."

He saw movement at the end of the hallway where Harry had seemingly disappeared around the corner, but found that he didn't much care if he caught Draco being silly.

~~~

As July crept toward its finish, Draco visited the gardens. It was too late in the year to plant anything new, but there was still maintenance work he could accomplish, and plans he could make for next year. It was the first time in a long while that Draco could recall looking forward to something - to planning that far ahead. It had also been jarring, going from doing hard work all day in the orchard, and then back to a life of relative ease in the Manor. The ennui made him anxious.

Near the vast patio at the back of the West Wing's chapel were three small apple trees. They weren't enchanted in the same way as those at Craik; they didn't hold their taste perfectly through baking or even long past picking. No, their magic was in continual output. No matter the time of year, plump, juicy fruit would be waiting on the branches.

There was one each of red, yellow and green apple trees. Draco, peckish after his long, wending walk through the grounds, selected the largest apple he could see from the red tree and looked at it admiringly before biting in. The _crunch_ was satisfying and juice ran down his chin.

Draco had always been a fan of fruit. It was sweet, and colourful, and most of all personal. Vegetables usually were shared at the table, served from a platter, and were mixed or sauced in some way. Fruit was good as is, straight from the tree, and there wasn't any sharing. The entire apple belonged to Draco, and if he wanted another he only had to pick it. In fact, he did want another, right now.

The yellow apples were softer, and the skin bruised and broke as Draco took a bite, dripping juice down his fingers to the wrist. He couldn't help the satisfied moan as he finished it off.

"Must be good."

"How on earth do you keep sneaking up on me?"

"I learned to be quiet when I was young," Harry said with no explanation, appearing from around the side of the Manor. "Mind if I have one?"

"By all means." Draco gestured to the green tree. "Those are more tart. You may want to try the red."

"Who says I don't like tart things?" Harry nevertheless did approach, and reached for a red apple.

 _Because you ate your weight in treacle at Hogwarts._ "Just seems like a sweet kind of day," Draco replied instead. _What does that even mean, you wanker?_ The apple went in Harry's pocket. "You don't want it now?"

"Nah, I'll save it for later. Might get a craving, late at night." He tilted his head, and raked his eyes over Draco. "Your hand is sticky."

"The yellow ones are soft- oh!" Harry reached down and grabbed his hand, lifting it towards himself.

Draco had the sudden notion that Harry was going to suck on his fingers. Instead, he wiped them on his own soft t-shirt. "Here. Thought you wouldn't want to get that nice one dirty." It was actually one of Draco's least fancy shirts, but it _was_ starched. Holkey insisted on applying ironing charms even to his old clothes from Craik.

"I... thanks," Draco said lamely, instead of protesting that he could take care of himself.

"You must really like apples." Harry was still holding his hand.

"One of my earliest displays of magic was to cause all the fruit to fall down at once, just so I could get my hands on one," Draco admitted. His hand was trembling. Should he pull it back?

"Sounds like you." Harry's voice had gone soft. Draco licked his lips. They were still sticky with juice. Harry watched his tongue dart out, then dropped his hand, backing up.

"I'll see you at dinner," he said, the moment broken. Draco could only nod. He stood there, still shaking for several minutes, until a series of _thuds_ caused him to jump.

Behind him, the trees rained down apples.

~~~

Harry left the Manor for his birthday. He didn't take Julian along, since the main event was some Gryffindor pub crawl, and he didn't return that night.

Draco was not invited, of course, though he wouldn't have been caught dead in a Muggle pub with Seamus Finnigan even if he had been. He'd noticed the ambivalent look on Harry's face as he left, and was therefore surprised to see him stumble in the next morning hungover as hell, apparently having enjoyed himself.

He was helped along by Granger, who turned her mouth up in a wry smile. Draco could see she was trying to appear disapproving, but couldn't help but to find Harry's agony amusing.

"Go and lie down," she told him. "This Hangover Potion needs to steep for ten minutes before it's activated."

"I'll be dead before then," Harry moaned. "Why did I do shots? I didn't even want to go out in the first place."

"You went out to get them off your back," Draco spoke up from the corner. He was looking for a book, of course, not waiting anxiously by the Floo.

"Draco. Would you be so kind as to get a kettle started? Harry is going up to bed."

"Certainly." Draco snapped his fingers and Delby appeared. "Steep that potion for ten minutes, Delby, and then bring it back here, please." The elf reached for the bottle, and Granger glared at Draco.

"I can do it myself if you won't."

"That's your choice. I wasn't aware you knew the way to the kitchens, though." _And I won't be showing you,_ he didn't say, but it was implied and Granger knew it. She handed the bottle to the elf with a sigh.

"Fine. Go on upstairs, Harry, I'll bring this up when it's ready." Harry could barely nod as he left.

"Don't you do _anything_ for yourself, Draco?" Granger asked him curiously. "I thought you were supposed to be helping Harry with Julian. If the elves do everything, I can't see how you're necessary."

Draco bristled. "He's my brother, of course I'm necessary! The elves adore Julian, anyway."

"Hmm." She sat down on his favourite golden velvet chair. "So, how is Julian?"

"He's fine."

"He seems to have settled in well, here."

"Of course he did. He's a Malfoy." _Am I to be subjected to her for the whole ten minutes?_

"I wasn't aware being a Malfoy made moving house easier," she said mockingly.

Draco rolled his eyes. "I meant that he's supposed to be here, and he can feel it."

"Really?" Granger leaned forward curiously. "Did he say - of course he didn't say anything, he only knows about ten words - but you can tell?"

"Of course." Draco crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. "It's as natural as breathing."

"Fascinating. So there's no ritual to tie him to the house?"

"That's only for bringing in a wife."

"That's terribly biased. What about a husband?" Draco sputtered, but Granger continued talking. "His magic is presenting quite early, then. What if he'd been a Squib?"

"Impossible," Draco said flatly, thinking about the ritual performed by Lucius and Narcissa.

Granger scoffed. "Don't kid yourself, Pure-blood families can have Squibs just as easily as Half-blood."

"That's not what I - oh, never mind. In any case, it's not the magic. If Julian _had_ been a Squib, the Manor would still welcome him in." Draco had figured this out after being welcomed back in the Manor without his own magic.

"Really?" She sat up straighter. "So it's a blood binding?"

"An inherited one, yes." _That knowledge wasn't passed down because no one wanted to accept the possibility of a Squib child, but now I know the truth._

"And the marriage ritual?"

"A magical one," Draco said, smug to know something she didn't. "There are three kinds of bindings: magic, blood, and soul. Only one is needed to bind someone to the Manor, although the magic ritual must be _performed_ by someone of blood. My father tied my mother to the house in that way."

"What about soul?" Draco thought she sounded far too wary for someone who'd never experienced that sort of magic.

"That's necromancy," he admitted, wincing, "and I don't know anything about it. It may simply be theoretical."

Granger regarded him knowingly. "There are some things we shouldn't play around with."

"Indeed."

She bent forward on her knees, chin in hand, simply watching Draco. Even seated, looking up, he felt as if her presence towered over him. Fortunately he didn't have to think of anything to say, as Delby popped back into the room.

"The potion is being ready, Master Draco."

Hermione reached for the potion, but Draco intercepted it. "No, I'll take it up to him." He wanted to escape Granger, who could interrogate him with nothing more than a look.

Delby cringed, looking between them. "Ah, Master Julian is also being awake, and cries for his bottle."

Draco hesitated. "Oh, go on up to Harry," Granger offered. "I've got Julian to calm down more than once."

Julian was his responsibility, but Draco couldn't resist the opportunity to taunt Harry in his own room. Sure enough, he was groaning in bed, splayed out on top of the covers. He'd pulled his shirt off and lay on his stomach, half-naked and... tempting. Draco was suddenly very aware that he'd never actually gone inside Harry's room, or seen him so unguarded. Any insults that he'd planned evaporated from his mind.

Draco swallowed dryly at the sight of the dimples in Harry's back, just above his arse. All the teasing glances and touches were starting to go to his head. He'd never looked at Harry like _this_ before, had he?

The man in question pulled himself up into a sitting position, muscles flexing, and Draco looked down at the floor, his cheeks burning. "Here. Hangover Potion. I'd recommend you drink it quickly - quite frankly, you look like shit." He spun on his heel and left the room before Harry could respond with another inane comment.

Draco leaned against the wall in the hallway between Harry and Julian's rooms and took a deep breath. Harry liked men, he'd admitted as much. He'd kissed Thomas, how many other boys had he been with? When he looked at Draco with those soft eyes, when he brushed up against him purposefully, was he thinking of kissing _Draco?_ Why hadn't he made a move, then?

 _Because I'd punch him,_ Draco insisted to himself. _He can be attracted to whomever he likes, but I'm not going to be his plaything. Even if he is... alluring. No! Not alluring. He's a prat. Fine, we can be friends, he thinks we are anyway. But I don't belong to him._

A loud cry broke Draco from his argument with himself. Before he could go into Julian's room, he heard Granger shushing him, and her surprisingly sweet singing voice.

"Hey Jules, don't make it bad, take a sad song and make it better, remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better."

Draco wasn't familiar with the song; it had to be Muggle. Or did she make it up herself? His brother's name seemed to fit perfectly in the rhythm.

"So let it out and let it in, hey Jules, begin. Don't carry the world upon your shoulders. And don't you know that it's just you, hey Jules, you'll do..."

Julian had stopped crying, and giggled softly. Draco rounded the corner finally to see Granger bouncing him in her arms.

"Did you come up with that song yourself?"

"Oh! No," she laughed. "It's by a very famous Muggle group. It's actually called "Hey Jude," but originally... well, anyways, he seems to like it."

"He does." Draco was reminded that Julian had spent much of his first year around Granger. Harry's life was slowly bleeding into his own.

"Here, you can feed him," she offered "He wouldn't take it from me. Seemed like he was waiting for you."

"Day!" Julian reached out, and Draco took him easily. It was the first time Granger had seen him interact with his brother, he realised. She watched them as if they were an interesting object of study, but he ignored her, settling Julian back in his cot.

"Here's your bottle, little star. Didn't want to let Granger feed you?"

"Hermione."

"Oh, not you too. It's bad enough Potter has me calling him _Harry._ " Julian easily accepted the bottle and began to suck.

"Did you worry about him at all in the beginning, only on formula?"

"He didn't have much of a choice, did he?" Draco didn't mean to sound quite so bitter. _It's not Mother's fault. She was older, and exhausted._ "And I wasn't there for his first year."

"But you must have thought about him."

Draco sighed wearily. "I tried not to, if you must know. I didn't think I'd ever see him again."

"Yes, Harry wasn't sure where you'd gone."

"I'm very grateful he found me," Draco admitted as he stroked Julian's soft blond hair.

"Did you meet him?" Granger nodded at Julian, eyes piercing. "Before Harry took custody."

"Once," Draco whispered. "Briefly. They wouldn't let me take him, I... I protested, but it was no use."

"Do you think you could have taken care of him?" she enquired. Draco scowled.

"Are you fucking- Yes. Of course. I would do anything for him."

"Little ears," she said off-handedly. "So even though you-"

"Hey." Harry appeared in the doorway, and Draco didn't get to hear the rest of Granger's question as she brushed past him.

"Harry. Are you feeling any better?"

"Less like Hippogriffs had a party in my head and more like... I dunno, cats. Something smaller." She laughed easily, linking her arm with Harry's, and Draco felt an unpleasant surge of jealousy.

"If that will be all," Draco bit out. "Harry and I had plans today."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "We did?"

"Deciding what to plant in the parts of the garden that have become overrun. We discussed this."

"Er, yeah, I guess." He shook his head as if to unfog it. "I must have forgot."

He hadn't forgotten anything; Draco had made it up on the spot. Harry shrugged at Hermione. "Thanks for the potion. I'll talk with you later, about... everything." If she was put off by being dismissed so easily, she didn't show it.

~~~

In the garden, Draco struggled to find things to talk about. Maybe he should have left Harry to his plans with Hermione, rather than dragging him out here on a whim. He attempted to fill the silence with plans for the spring planting.

"Perhaps a lemon tree here? And foxglove back there; it will be out of the way enough that Julian will be unlikely to stumble upon it." He was terrified that he was broadcasting with his face and his thoughts: _I ogled you in your bed! For one infinitesimal second, I wanted to grab your arse and squeeze!_

Harry smiled lazily, and it was rather attractive, which did nothing for Draco's anxiety. He seemed so pleased to be walking the grounds together, to simply be in Draco's company. " _Upon._ You still sound so posh, even after all this time."

"Tsk." Draco tossed his head. "I speak properly, you mean." _You haven't managed to train me out of it._

"Whatever. Jules is going to come out sounding like such a hybrid, between you and me."

And wasn't _that_ something; as if he were _their_ baby. Harry was grinning, like it was lovely they were raising a child together that would be equal parts of them.

It was at once frightening and a heady rush, that Harry would want to intertwine his life with Draco's like that. And he made it sound so easy. The image of Harry lying in his bed, stripped naked to the waist, came flooding back. That messy hair spread on the pillows, skin that looked warm to the touch. _Touch._ Against all his previous instincts, Draco's hands itched to reach out for Harry, to smooth down his hair or rest on his shoulder.

It was suddenly all too much, and Draco lashed out, afraid of his unnamed emotions.

"At least I'm not singing Muggle songs to him," he snapped

Harry scowled, the moment broken. "What's wrong with Muggle songs?"

Draco viciously plucked a weed from the raised lavender beds, refusing to make eye contact "I'm sure they're perfectly inoffensive, if Granger is singing them. Merlin knows she won't even curse."

"Wait a minute." Harry placed an arm out to block Draco from progressing any further in his weeding. "I thought you'd come around, Draco. What's your problem with Hermione or Muggles?"

"Come around? Meaning what?" He reached for another bit of grass, but Harry stepped between him and the plants, forcing him to look up.

"You agreed we wouldn't raise Julian to think all the terrible things you were taught," Harry said slowly. "You said you regret your past."

"I _said_ I regretted that anyone was hurt because of me. That I regret allowing myself to be pulled along into following a madman. I did _not_ say I was suddenly going to embrace all things Muggle." Draco had been frightened every time he set foot in Teviothead, forced there out of necessity, and had no intention of doing so again.

Disappointment and anger warred on Harry's face. "You still think of them as lesser?"

"I think of them as _different!_ No, let me finish," Draco held up a hand. "We terrify Muggles. You know it's true. You told me yourself, your mother's Muggle family hated you." Harry looked away resentfully. "Now imagine a world full of that, all bent on tracking you down and killing you."

Harry turned back to Draco, disbelievingly. "You're going to tell _me_ about what it feels like to be hunted?"

"That was one man, and barely a man at that. Don't forget that I know what it's like to fear him, as well. It still feels like he's glowering around every corner. Like I'll never be rid of him." Harry's eyes twitched to Draco's left arm, _you won't be_ the unspoken implication.

"A world of that, Harry," Draco reiterated. "An entire culture that wants to eradicate yours. Yes, I know, the irony isn't lost on me. The Dark Lord tried to do the very same thing. And yes, _that_ I regret. Why would I want it to happen again, but in reverse? No, we should stay apart."

"You just want to isolate Julian, never let him learn about things outside of our bubble?"

"You're the one who isolates himself. Where do you even go when I can't find you?"

Harry shifted nervously. Draco wondered why he was so cagey. "Around."

"Around in the Wizarding World, or the Muggle one?" Draco sighed at Harry's chagrined face." _You_ don't even feel comfortable there, anymore. Why should we bother involving ourselves in their world?"

"What about witches like Hermione?" Harry persisted. "Her parents are Muggle. Should she never see them again?"

Draco decided to be honest. "Never again? No. But she shouldn't bring them here, and honestly, I don't see why she'd want to, or why she'd want to have anything to do with her old life. Why bother with it when she has magic?"

"Why should Julian bother with you, then?" Harry countered cruelly. Draco stepped back as if he'd been slapped, watching Harry's clenched fists. "Magic doesn't make might, Draco."

"But it does make culture, make heritage. And I'm still part of that, you wretch." His voice broke, and Harry stepped towards him, hands out placatingly, obviously feeling sorry he'd said such a thing.

"You are. Just... look. You say Muggles are afraid of us. It's because they don't know about us. If you really think Voldemort was wrong, if you _really_ think we shouldn't look down on or want to kill or conquer Muggles, we have to learn about them. Or we fear them, too." Harry moved closer. "I know you don't want Julian to grow up to fear and hate."

That was true, but Draco was already weary of this argument. Merlin, he actually preferred the dance around their physical attraction. "How do you know that?"

"Because you've changed," Harry insisted. "I have to believe you've changed," he added, almost to himself. He stared at Draco intensely.

Draco gulped. "Why? Why is it so important to you? Only because of Julian? Or..." It was becoming impossible to ignore the signs. Harry's hungry looks, his insistence they all move to the Manor, his investment in Draco's redemption. But a direct accusation was too risky.

He pressed on. "You don't want to feel guilty over it. That's why it matters to you that I repent what I've done."

"Over what? I don't feel guilty." Harry's tone was defiant, but there was little force behind the words; his eyes were locked on Draco's.

"You know," Draco said in a low voice. He wasn't going to go down easily, even if it suddenly seemed inevitable. Harry had to be the one to admit it.

"You don't know what you're talking about," Harry whispered even as he leaned even further in.

Their mouths were so close together that Draco could feel Harry's hot breath. If he stuck his tongue out, he would taste Harry's lips.

_Is this it?_

It wasn't.

Harry jolted back as if burned. "I didn't-!" He stumbled away, tripping on those atrocious Muggle shoes, and Draco was left alone in the garden, bereft.

~~~

Draco wandered the Manor, out of sorts after his encounter with Harry. It was the closest they'd come to something truly physical, something they couldn't take back, and Draco was surprised with how disappointed he was that it hadn't happened.

_Does this make me... no. It's only Harry. We've always been drawn to each other. He changed the rules by desiring me, and now I'm fixating on it._

He found himself outside his mother's private suite, which was attached to the master bedroom. He had avoided this section of the house, trying not to fall back into nostalgia for his parents, who would never return. But now, he felt compelled to seek out a bit of his old life.

Slowly, almost reverently, he opened the door. Everything was just as she left it: delicate glass bottles on the vanity, powder puffs, even her hairbrush, still tangled with golden strands. Draco skirted around the door that led to the bedroom itself, unwilling to see if Holkey had successfully cleaned the blood off the floor, and settled down on a chaise beside the window. A pink silk robe was laid over the back, and he picked it up hesitantly.

It still smelled like his mother.

Narcissa Malfoy had favoured lily of the valley in her perfumes and hair potions rather than her namesake flower. It was an uncommon scent in witches' beauty products, and would forever flood Draco with sense memory. He could picture it clear as day, sitting on this very chaise while she brushed her hair and listened to him prattle on about brooms or school. His throat tight, Draco wrapped the robe around himself, putting his arms through the sleeves, and curled up on the chaise.

 _What would she think of me now? All twisted up over Harry Potter. She may have saved his life, but I doubt she'd approve of us being... intimate._ He wrinkled his nose at the idea of discussing _intimacies_ with his mother. _Not to mention the notion of raising her son to be an expert on Muggles. Surely, Father is rolling in his unmarked grave._

The thing was, Draco _knew_ that Harry was right, at least partly. But it chafed, having to admit he was wrong, and in the very house he was raised to believe exactly the opposite. It was insult to injury.

Draco also felt guilty for not considering his mother more when it came to Julian. He still hadn't taken him to see her portrait. Sulking like only a Malfoy could, Draco called Holkey for tea, then dozed off.

Hours later, the door opened slightly, and Harry's face poked in.

"Come down and eat dinner." He sounded far too nonchalant for someone who nearly pressed his mouth to Draco's only just that morning.

"Have it sent up," Draco grumbled. If Harry wasn't going to address the almost-kiss, then Draco could act like it didn't happen, too.

"No. Julian wants to see you, come join us and stop moping around."

"I'm not moping. I'm having a lie-in."

"Yeah, while moping." Harry peered closer at Draco, squinting in curiosity. "What are you wearing?"

"Get out, _Potter,_ " he said through gritted teeth. This was his mother's sanctum. Did Harry have to invade every aspect of his life?

"I didn't know I'd find you playing dress-up."

"Get OUT!" Draco repeated with a shriek, throwing a teacup at Harry's face. It hit the door frame and exploded into tiny white pieces.

"Fuck, Malfoy! Fine!" Harry retreated down the hall, where Draco could still hear him complaining. He probably wouldn't send any dinner up, just to spite him. Draco would have to make an appearance.

Downstairs, Julian was happily smearing some jam on a piece of toast with his fingers. Harry looked up with a raised eyebrow as Draco took a seat.

"I shouldn't have said that. You can wear what you want."

"It was my mother's," Draco said plainly, while taking the jam away from Julian and wiping his fingers off.

"I figured that. Where else would you get ladies' clothes?"

"No, I mean... Never mind."

"Still, none of my business what you like to do in your spare time." Harry seemed uncomfortable and part of Draco cruelly wanted to let that continue, but he also felt the need to explain himself.

"It smells like her. I miss her." He put down the sticky napkin and spoke in a challenging tone, daring Harry to poke fun at him. "I wanted her to hold me."

"Oh." Harry somehow looked more discomfited now, as if this naked display of human emotion from Draco was even more embarrassing than crossdressing might have been. He gathered his empty plate, having finished eating while Draco took his sweet time coming down, and set it on the counter. "I miss my mother, too," he said quietly, facing away.

"It's not the same."

Harry whirled back around. "Bullshit, Draco! You think I don't want my mum when I'm scared, when I'm lonely?"

"You didn't know her!" Draco countered. "I'm not saying you miss her any less, but it's different. You don't have memories like I do."

"Yeah, and whose fault is that?" Harry's eyes glittered with anger. It made Draco want to hit him. He settled instead for rising smoothly from his chair and stalking towards Harry until he backed against the counter. It reminded him of the moment in the garden, but instead of arousal between them there was now only heated rage.

It somehow felt the same in Draco's blood.

"I know you fucking hated her," Draco growled. "And I don't care. She was my _mother._ I've betrayed her by trying to forget her. But this was her house, and I'll be damned if I try to exile her memory from it any longer."

"I didn't _hate_ her," Harry answered haltingly, but it obviously pained him to say it.

"You did, shut up, I know you did!" Draco was shouting now. "She saved your goddamn life, and you won't even say her name around her son!"

"Narcissa!" Harry yelled back. "There, you arsehole! And who cares if she saved my life? _Narcissa_ got Sirius killed! I don't have any family now! You still want to talk about yours?!"

"I didn't mean me! Julian will never know her, it's so fucking unfair, and you want to pretend she didn't exist! But she-" Draco broke off on a sob.

"He was _never_ going to know her, she would have gone to prison if she hadn't died! She only had him as a 'fuck you' to the Minist- "

Harry's words abruptly cut off as Draco slapped him across the face.

His head wrenched sharply with the force of it. Harry turned back slowly, his hand cupping his jaw in bewilderment. Draco's hand still hung in the air between them. It wasn't a normal part of their repertoire. Punches, kicks, hexes when they were younger, but never a full palm to the mouth or cheek. That was for women.

They stood frozen for a moment that seemed to last hours. Finally Draco realised that Julian had begun crying behind him.

Harry spoke first. "We shouldn't fight in front of him." He was still holding his face. Draco nodded woodenly and went to pick Julian up, rubbing his back in soothing circles. "I'm taking him for a walk," he told Harry, leaving the room without waiting for a response.

~~~

"I'm so sorry," Draco whispered into Julian's hair as he walked down the hall, holding him close. "I didn't mean to upset you." He'd never wanted Julian to see what an awful person he could be when he lost control.

"Har," Julian whimpered as his tears finally ceased.

"Yes, that was wrong of me to hit him. He shouldn't have said such a terrible thing, but I can admit that it was uncalled for." Julian sniffled and squirmed, and Draco wished he could summon his pram. He turned and headed up to his bedroom. "Let's sit and read for a while, ok? Calm down a bit."

 _Dunstan the Dragon Tamer_ sat on the end table; it was meant for a child of two or three, but reading it aloud gave Draco just as much comfort as Julian - recalling one of his only kind memories of their father. Rather than set Julian down in his cot or playpen, he sat on the settee and tucked Julian into the crook of his arm beside him.

Halfway through the book, Harry appeared in the doorway.

"Is he feeling better?"

"Yes." In fact, Julian was drifting off to sleep. Draco kept his voice low. "I'm sorry, Harry."

"I'm sorry, too."

"It always comes back to this - you, me, violence. I don't know why I thought it could be any different. Maybe I should go back." He didn't want Julian to grow up in fear, and he knew Harry didn't either.

"Don't say that," Harry insisted. "Julian needs you."

Draco held his brother tighter against him. "You bring out the worst in me, and I don't want him to see me like that." He bit his lip anxiously. "If we can't make this work, if I leave, will you still let me see him?" _Even though there is something so ugly inside of me?_

"What the fuck, Draco? Of course I would. I mean, we aren't the best parents-"

"We aren't his _parents._ " The word was distasteful, like he and Harry were playing house.

"You know what I mean. We aren't really great at it, but we love him, and we're trying. I think that's what counts." Harry came to sit on the other side of Julian, who roused. "Har," he said in his quiet little baby voice.

"We need to teach you more words, Jules." Harry smiled down at him with pure love, and it struck Draco somewhere deep in his heart.

"You really do _love_ him don't you? Even though he isn't your real family."

"I don't have 'real' family." Harry didn't sound as bitter as before. "But family is also the people you hold close, the people you choose to be with. How could I not love him? I've been caring for him for over a year." Julian reached his little hands out, as if to make Harry's point for him. Harry smiled and held out a finger for him to grasp. "And he's pretty cute, you know. I can't imagine you were this cute as a baby."

"I'll have you know I was adorable," Draco said dryly.

"Didn't last, did it," Harry said with a laugh. Julian giggled back at him, and then yawned. "Bedtime already? Wore yourself out crying, didn't you. Up you go." He rose with Julian and laid him down in his cot with Firebreath. Draco watched them together. Harry seemed inclined to forgive Draco's violent outburst, and Draco was similarly inclined to let it go, silently promising to himself that he'd try to be better. And if Harry wasn't going to take Julian away from him, then Draco could afford to address the elephant in the room.

"You know what this means, then," Draco said to Harry with a smirk. "It means that _we're_ family." Harry's face paled. "No?"

"I don't-  I mean, that's not how I think of you, it's... weird, maybe because-" Harry shut his mouth abruptly.

"Because you don't kiss family." There. It was out in the open.

Harry took a shuddering breath, but didn't meet Draco's eyes. "I didn't kiss you." He turned and went back out into the hall.

Draco rose from the settee and followed him. "You were going to."

"I don't know what I was going to do. Maybe I was going to hit you." Harry's head was still down, his tone defensive.

"Of course. The great Harry Potter would never kiss a Death Eater."

"You aren't a Death Eater." Draco took satisfaction in how flustered Harry was becoming.

"I was certainly convicted of it." He was simply doing this to taunt Harry, now.

Harry did look at him then, green eyes blazing. "Did you _want_ me to kiss you? Is that what this is about? I'll fucking kiss you if it will shut you up."

That was the wrong thing to say. Draco didn't know what he wanted; Harry made him feel things he had never expected, made his blood boil with passion, but it could have just been the urge to punch his stupid face, not kiss it. He certainly didn't want Harry to kiss him out of spite or obligation, though.

Suddenly, even if he didn't know if he truly desired Harry, he _wanted_ Harry to desire him. To desire Draco for simply for being _Draco._

"Is that why you were going to kiss me in the garden, hmm? To shut me up? Think if you kiss me, if you _take_ me, you can mold me into whatever you want?"

"Take you? I don't understand." Lies, all lies, Harry knew exactly what Draco meant by _take,_ judging by the way he raked his eyes over Draco.

"You'll have a perfect little family, make me a perfect little wife." He gestured to Julian's bedroom and batted his eyes for effect. "See? Ready made."

Harry laughed sharply. "You'd be a terrible wife." He looked tempted, though.

"Maybe _you'd_ be the wife," Draco shot back.

"Why does one of us have to be the wife?" Harry wondered aloud.

"Well, _I'm_ certainly not a girl."

"I'm well aware." Harry said huskily.

All of Draco's retorts vanished at the sudden expression of _need_ evident on Harry's face. It went right to his core, and ignited a spark he thought he'd never feel again. It was like...

Like magic.

Draco took a step further into Harry's space -

\- and Harry backed away.

"Make up your mind, will you?" Draco growled, and Harry froze.

" _My_ mind? Since when do you want-?" He glanced around frantically, and backed up some more. Draco could see it in his eyes; he wanted to Disapparate. Draco reached out to grab his arm - although what he was going to do after, he hadn't yet decided - but it was too late, and his hand met empty air.

~~~

Three days.

Draco hadn't seen Harry in _three days._

Not at breakfast; not at dinner; not in the garden playing with Julian. Draco had to work the house-elves double: lighting the fire in the parlour, fixing meals. They didn't mind, of course, but it was the principle of the thing. At one point Draco worried that Harry wouldn't return, and then tossed and turned all night, frightened that the Aurors or the Ministry would find out he was in the Manor alone and cart him off. He ended up pulling a mattress into Julian's room and sleeping there, needing to be close.

_I lived alone for so long, and now I can't bear the idea._

Merlin, he _missed_ Harry.

It was boring without him around, arguing and laughing, tracking Draco with lustful eyes. After reading for a few hours failed to keep Draco's attention, he wandered down the hall where Brutus Malfoy's portrait was kept. Octavia was yet again in residence.

"Hello, nephew."

"I think there are a number of 'greats' you left out there."

"Never remind a woman of her age," she laughed. "What brings you down my hallway alone?"

"Harry's gone." Draco scuffed his toe along the carpet. "Why are you back?"

"Brutus is in his portrait in Edinburgh, at a library he founded. He rather dislikes the presence of your Harry, you know."

"He isn't mine," Draco mumbled.

She nodded sagely. "But you want him to be."

"I didn't say _that._ "

"Don't try to fool me. I know a thing or two about forbidden love."

'Love?!" Draco yelped. "I don't love him! This is all his fault, he's the one who won't stop _watching_ me, making me feel like... like this."

"Like everything is brighter when he's around? Like you can't wait to see him again?"

"If he even comes back." Draco quieted. "How did you know? When you left for Bavaria. How did you know it was the right thing to do?"

"It's not easy to explain," Octavia admitted. "I knew it would cause problems between my brother and I, that I turned down several Pure-blood candidates. And Joseph had to hide that I was a witch from his parents, who wanted him to keep his own magical ability hidden, to ignore it. Things were getting worse for us at the time." She smiled wistfully. "But I also knew that being his wife was worth it. It was harder to imagine an easy life without him than a difficult one with each other."

"You didn't have much time together." A terrible thought occurred to Draco. "You died in childbirth. It wasn't - it wasn't a ritual, was it?"

"No. There was no magic. Which was the problem, actually, Muggle medicine barely existed in those days." She spoke so matter of fact, and Draco knew it was because the true depth of emotion in a human soul could never be captured in a painting, even if their personality could.

"Life is short, nephew. You must take what you desire when you can."

"You're rather liberal for a woman who lived in the 17th century," Draco grumbled. "Harry is a _man._ I've never been attracted to men before." _Lucius would have flayed me alive, even if I had. A man can't give me an heir._

"Years of observing royal dalliances," she said smoothly. "Nothing surprises me."

"It surprises me." Draco had enjoyed kissing Pansy. He'd enjoyed feeling her up through her shirt. And one hazy night in Seventh year, drunk on smuggled alcohol and trying to forget everything that was happening in his home, he'd mostly enjoyed a blow job from Lisa Turpin, who was avoiding her problems in a similar fashion. He'd never so much as looked in another boy's direction.

"Your desire is new?"

"I smashed his face in once," Draco said bluntly. "There was no desire. We were enemies."

"Perhaps that is passion as well." Draco turned from the knowing look in her eyes. "All I can tell you is to follow your heart, Draco Malfoy. Even if you are unsure what it wants at the moment. It will tell you. And so, I think, will he."

~~~

Dinner was lonely without Harry's constant jabbering. Draco sent Julian up to bed with Holkey and pouted in the blue parlour for about an hour, until he decided to take a bath. A long soak would help him clear his mind.

He passed Harry's empty room, and decided to peek in on Julian. The light was still on; quietly, he opened the door, and started when he spied Harry charming the Hippogriff mobile over Julian's cot to spin. He was softly half-singing a song - or an attempt at one. Harry had an awful voice.

"Hey Jules, don't let me down, you have found her, now go and get her..."

_That Muggle song again._

"The minute you let her into your- Oh!" Harry had noticed Draco peering in. "Shh, he's sleeping."

"I know," Draco whispered." I was just checking on him."

Harry crept out and closed the door gently behind him. "How has he been?"

"Fine," Draco snapped. "He asked for you constantly. Where were you?"

"Grimmauld Place. I had to think about some things."

"It was appallingly rude to leave like that," Draco sniffed, his nose in the air.

Harry frowned. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Hide behind all that poshness. You know what I had to go think about. I've made up my mind."

Harry's gaze was firm, and Draco felt exposed before him. He leaned against the wall. "Well then, do tell. What has Harry Potter decided?"

"To be honest." Draco was silent, leaving space for Harry to continue.

"I tried to avoid this, when it was just a fantasy. I didn't even understand what I was feeling, at first, and then I didn't _want_ to feel it. And it didn't matter, because it could never happen, yeah? So many horrible things have come between us, and you didn't feel the same."

 _Never happen._ Draco's heart plummeted. _Is he rejecting me? After making me want him?_

"I didn't want to scare you off, make you leave," Harry continued, "But now... I'm not imagining things, am I? In the garden, would you have let me?"

 _I tried to tell myself I would have hit him, but if his lips actually met mine..._ "I don't... I don't know. I think I would have." _And I will. I can't lie to myself any longer._

"Even the possibility... I had to know. Had to tell you. In case... in case it's real."

_Real._

"Is this new?" Draco pleaded. "I have to know. Tell me, did you look at me before?" Of course Harry watched him for years, but Draco meant _look,_ and Harry knew it.

"Yes. I looked at you. All through Sixth year. Maybe before that."

"But because you wanted to punch my face or hex me. You did just that, several times, over the years."

"It wasn't - yeah, I wanted to kick your arse a lot, but later, you were... Fuck, I don't know! I wanted to get my hands on you, and it _was_ in anger, but it was _more._ Not just punching you or hexing you." Harry appeared truly disturbed. "Once when you said something awful to me, I wanted to _bite_ you. I think maybe I wanted to kiss you, but you were such a git it just turned violent in my mind."

Draco reeled from this information. _All that time, Harry wanted to touch me?_ "What if I hadn't been a git?"

Harry turned his face sharply away, but continued. "In Sixth year, when you stopped playing Quidditch, and spent so much time alone, you weren't being as awful. I mean, turns out you were being awful, I guess, but not directly to me. And I... I wanked over you. Once. Felt totally ashamed after, but yeah."

"Only once?" Draco asked faintly.

Harry allowed their eyes to meet again, with a bravery Draco didn't feel. "Two days later, I almost killed you. Sorry if I found it hard to get it up over you for a while, afterwards." He moved a breath closer. "I _am_ sorry for the bathroom, you know. We've put a lot of things behind us, but I never said it, so... sorry." Even closer. "It didn't scar, did it?"

Harry lifted his hand a fraction, and Draco froze. _Is he going to touch me_ now? _Does he want to see?_ Wordlessly, he unbuttoned his shirt and allowed it to fall open.

"No scars. See?"

"You could have just told me." Harry's gaze felt hot on Draco's bare chest.

"Where's the fun in that?"

Harry's hand shot out and pinned one of Draco's wrists to the wall. "Fun? I nearly _murdered_ you!"

"You didn't, though." Draco only half-heartedly tried to pull away. "Have you imagined it all this time? Thinking about the marks you may have put on me? Did you want to leave your signature carved into my skin? Did you want to _own_ me?"

That was the wrong - or perhaps right - thing to say, because Harry made a frustrated noise and lunged at Draco, who flinched, braced for some sort of violence. Instead, Harry kissed him desperately, unmindful of his teeth, and squeezed the wrist that was trapped until Draco knew there'd be a bruise. He returned the kiss just as savagely, sucking Harry's bottom lip into his mouth.

It was nothing like he'd envisioned, and somehow everything he dreamed of.

They pressed against each other, Draco pushing off the wall while Harry shoved him back against it, and he knew Harry could feel his erection. His cock had begun to plump as soon as Harry admitted wanking while thinking of him, and he grew even stiffer as the kiss continued.

"Oh my god, you're _hard,"_ Harry groaned into his mouth.

"What did you expect?"

"I thought maybe I hurt you."

"You did. You are." Harry tried to pull back, and Draco grabbed his arse, holding their hips together. "I didn't say stop, you moron."

"But... you said it hurts..."

Draco didn't understand it himself. _Fuck it, I'll work it out later._ "It does hurt. Apparently I like that sort of thing."

Harry practically growled, and it was like setting a boggart loose from a cabinet - sudden and all at once. Before Draco could even think of protesting, both his hands were pinned above his head and Harry was sucking bruises into his neck. Draco wished he wasn't making such a high-pitched whining sound, but he couldn't help himself. Harry's own cock was rock hard, and even through their trousers the friction was amazing. Draco threw his head back and gasped at a particularly hard thrust, and Harry sank his teeth into the soft skin.

"Oh!" Draco cried out, his hips stuttering. Harry was overwhelming, and he found himself halfway to orgasm even before Harry trailed one hand down between them to cup his balls. His other hand kept Draco's arms against the wall; he was stronger than he looked. Harry licked along Draco's jaw line.

"Can I take them off?"

"Merlin yes, do it." Harry didn't actually pull Draco's trousers all the way down, just unzipped them and shoved a hand inside. He stroked the shaft of Draco's cock, then returned to his balls, tugging on them just this side of painful as he licked into Draco's mouth, swallowing his sobs of pleasure.

"You feel so good," Harry moaned, grinding his still clothed cock into Draco's hip. "I fucking knew it, I knew you'd be amazing. God, the way you _taste._ "

Draco shivered at the praise Harry rained down between kisses. "I'm - I'm close-"

"Fuck yeah, come for me."

"I need more - please Harry!" Draco had no time to berate himself for begging as Harry started to pump his cock. It only took about twenty pulls before Draco came in his trousers, Harry still stroking him even as he smeared sticky fluid all over his hand and Draco's stomach. The high of his orgasm was like the world bursting into colour, like casting a spell, a feeling he thought he'd lost.

Draco was still catching his breath as Harry released his wrists and unzipped his own jeans; he wasn't wearing pants either and his cock sprang out immediately. It was darker than Draco's own, but similarly average sized, the swollen head peeking out from the foreskin. Harry wasted no time; he spat in his hand and worked his cock against Draco's spent one, pulling Draco's trousers down under his balls so his softening, sticky prick was in full view. It was messy as hell, and the most erotic sight Draco had ever laid eyes on.

Harry came just as quickly, shooting between them and adding to the mess on Draco's clothes. He collapsed against Draco, dead weight, his head on the wall behind them.

Draco thought it was fitting that this, the culmination of their anxious dance, the release of apparently years of tension, had happened in a hallway, frotting like schoolboys. Cautiously, he raised a hand and petted Harry's hair. Just because they were evidently fucking now didn't mean things were allowed to be gentle. Harry didn't resist it, though, and Draco sighed. It was a soft moment, and unexpectedly sweet in the aftermath of their rough encounter. Draco's heart clenched as he realised he enjoyed this just as much as the sex.

Yet gradually, as the afterglow wore off, Draco became uneasy. Harry had talked about _feelings,_ about emotions he didn't understand. But he hadn't named those emotions, and then he'd spoken of _want,_ of physical need.

_And I gave in, melted under him, let him have me._

What if that's all Harry wanted? To use Draco, to own him? He'd broken down and finally kissed Draco at that very accusation.

 _Octavia is wrong, I don't love him. But I'm not a possession, either._ Harry's weight began to feel stifling, rather than comforting, and Draco tensed beneath him.

"Did you get what you wanted?"

Harry pulled back, a dreamy look in his eyes. "That was better than I imagined." He caught the stiff way Draco was holding himself. "Was it... not good for you?"

There was no point in lying about that; the evidence of Draco's pleasure was painted between them. "Fantastic, actually."

"What's wrong then?"

 _What_ is _wrong? Do I suddenly want him to be my... boyfriend? That's absurd._ "Nothing. Nothing's wrong. I just need to get cleaned up." He pushed Harry off and tried to zip his trousers, cringing when it stuck on the stained fabric. He held them up awkwardly as he backed away towards his room. "I'm getting in the shower. You should go do the same."

Harry's lost expression tugged at Draco's heart, but the doubt in his mind won out. "I'll see you at breakfast." And before Harry could answer, Draco did exactly what he always hated Harry for doing:

He ran away.

~~~

Draco was a hypocrite, and he knew it.

The encounter in the hallway had confused him even more than trying to figure out if Harry actually wanted him or not. Now he knew that Harry desired his body, knew what it could feel like when they clashed with teeth and tongues and hands.

He wanted _more,_ wanted it again, but couldn't shake the feeling that it was giving in, or giving up. And until he could come to terms with that, he needed to think - alone. So like Harry had done, Draco made himself scarce. He took Julian to breakfast, a buffer between the awkward conversation Harry obviously wanted to have, and hid in the garden the rest of the day. He did the same the next, disappearing to the parlour with Julian immediately after the morning meal.

Draco read to Julian, but his mind was elsewhere. A knock at the door took him by surprise.

"Hey, I'm heading out. I left something for you in the... whatever that big room with the couches and the record player is." Harry was almost shouting, his voice raised to be heard through the door he hadn't opened.

"Drawing room," Draco replied unthinkingly, before he realised Harry couldn't hear him. He waited a few minutes before gathering Julian in his arms and heading to the first floor. He could never resist a present.

There was nothing evidently different about the room at first glance. Draco set Julian on one of the velvet lounges and scanned the tables. Eventually he spotted it: the phonograph was set up, a record in place under the raised arm, already spelled to begin playing as soon as Draco pushed the needle in place. The small black circle had a picture of an apple on it. Draco didn't bother to read the words as he lowered the arm.

The needle locked in the groove, and a man began singing with a piano.

_Hey Jude, don't make it bad_

Oh. It was that song Harry and Hermione had sung to Julian.

_Take a sad song and make it better_

Draco reached back over toward the phonograph arm; he didn't want to listen to whatever Muggle music Harry had left him as a message. But Julian smacked his hands together in glee as the song continued, and a tambourine and guitar joined in, and Draco found he couldn't deny him.

_Hey Jude, don't be afraid_

"Na na na!" Julian babbled. "I don't think those are the words," Draco answered bemusedly. Julian raised his arms in his pick-me-up gesture but Draco found himself paying attention to the music as a chorus of voices sounded in the background. The rest of the band kicked in, and the room was filled with a warm sound.

_And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain_

_Don't carry the world upon your shoulders_

It... wasn't a bad song, really. A bit simple, maybe.

_For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool_

_By making his world a little colder_

Oh, Harry. Really?

_Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah_

"Na Na!" Julian clapped his hands. "Na!"

"Oh, is that what you meant?" Draco asked, now remembering Harry humming that part.

_Hey Jude, don't let me down_

_You have found her, now go and get her_

All the voices intertwined well, and the song was catchy, Draco had to admit. Julian continued to wave his arms insistently, so Draco gave in and picked him up.

_So let it out and let it in, hey Jude, begin_

_You're waiting for someone to perform with_

He twirled Julian gently as the song continued.

_And don't you know that it's just you, hey Jude, you'll do_

_The movement you need is on your shoulder_

_Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah yeah_

Na! Na!" Julian looked up at Draco expectantly. "You want me to sing, don't you. I don't sing."

_Hey Jude, don't make it bad_

_Take a sad song and make it better_

Two men sang at once now, and their harmony seemed natural. Draco found himself swaying with Julian of his own accord, not just to appease his brother.

_Remember to let her under your skin_

_Then you'll begin to make it_

_Better better better better better better woah!_

The song hit a climax that Draco hadn't expected.

_Nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah, hey Jude_

"Na! Na, Day!" Oh well. What could it hurt, really? The words seemed to just repeat, now.

_Nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah, hey Jude_

"..nah nah nah, hey... Draco trailed off. 'Julian' didn't work with the song. There was nothing for it, he supposed.

_Nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah, hey Jude_

"...nah nah nah, hey Jules," he sang hesitantly. Julian squealed in his arms, and Draco smiled, singing a bit more confidently as the refrain repeated.

_Nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah, hey Jude_

"Nah nah nah, hey Jules."

_Jude Jude-y, Jude-y wo-ow! Woah!_

"Hey, Jules!"

"Na!"

Draco was laughing now, and spinning Julian around as much as he dared. The refrain continued, long enough that Draco eventually tired and had to sink down on the lounge, still clapping and singing a few 'na nas' as Julian giggled.

"How long _is_ this song?" Longer than most Weird Sisters tunes, that was for sure. Julian of course didn't answer; he'd found a pillow to chew. Draco half-heartedly batted it away, but it couldn't really harm him. The fine lace doily he grabbed next was a different story, and Julian whined as Draco pulled it from his grasp.

"I know that sound. That's the nap-time whine." The song faded out as Draco called for Holkey. "Please take Julian upstairs for his nap." She bowed and Apparated herself and Julian to his bedroom. Draco had no problem trusting her with his brother; she'd looked after his own person for years.

The phonograph arm moved back of its own accord, and Draco lifted the record off. The reverse showed the inside of the apple, and said "Revolution."

Unable to restart the phonograph without a charm, he left it there, cut-apple side up.

~~~

Harry eventually found Draco in the gardens that night.

The August heat hadn't dissipated when the sun went down, and Draco was sitting on the edge of a broken fountain, trailing one hand slowly through the cool water. In the distance a peacock called out in the still air.

Soft footsteps over the gravel alerted Draco to Harry's presence, and he looked up from the moon's reflection in the pool.

"I got your message."

"My message?" Harry asked with a small smile.

"Your song."

Harry shrugged. "That's Jules' song."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You think I'm a fool."

"I think we're both being foolish." Harry came up to the concrete edge and sat down beside Draco.

"In what way?"

"Running. Pretending it isn't real." His knee brushed against Draco's, and he left it there.

"You ran first."

"Our stupidity isn't a contest. And I came back."

Draco watched as a water lily drifted over, and pushed it spinning away to the other side of the pool. "Is it?"

"Is it what?"

"Real?"

"You tell me. I've already been honest with you, Draco."

What Draco wanted to say stuck in his throat. _You aren't afraid of me, don't treat me like my life is already over, like I'm no good to Julian or anyone else. And I don't know_ why _you feel this way about me, but it makes me feel alive again._

Instead he pulled his hand from the water and placed it, dripping, onto Harry's.

"I think it's real," he whispered.

The moon shone brightly on Harry, revealing his awe-struck face. For a moment, as the shadows of the laurel tree passed over them, his longing gaze seemed terrifying, and Draco was afraid. What if this ended in tragedy? What if Harry grew tired of him, threw him away, threw him out? How did such a passion even ignite in Draco's heart, when he'd never experienced it before?

He'd done many terrible things out of fear, things he'd never chosen for himself. It was time to make a choice despite his cowardice.

Draco tightened his grip on Harry's hand and leaned in.

The kiss was less violent than their first, but no less passionate. There was no hesitation, no gentle easing in; their tongues met immediately and Harry's hand came up to tangle in Draco's hair. The wet sound of their mouths seemed unbearably loud in the silent garden, soon joined by soft moans and harsh pants. The telltale noise of Draco's zipper echoed as Harry, eager as the last time, slipped a hand between them.

_He doesn't do anything halfway, does he?_

Draco tried to return Harry's frantic caresses, but he was crowding him on the edge of the fountain. Draco bent back underneath Harry, and felt himself slipping. "Careful, you'll push me in the water!" Harry pulled away, and suddenly sank to his knees in front of Draco, finally pulling his trousers down as he made room between them.

"What are you... what are you doing?"

Harry paused, eyeing Draco's cock hungrily as it sprang out. "Have you ever...?"

"Which way?" _  
_

"Either."

Draco nodded shakily. "Once. Receiving."

"Well, tell me if I do anything wrong."

Before Draco could protest - though he wasn't going to protest, who was he kidding - Harry had swallowed halfway down his prick. Draco yelped, and Harry pulled away with a _smack._

"What's the matter?"

"I didn't expect you to just... go at it!" Harry's smile turned wicked, and he went straight back to his task, adding in a hand at the base. Draco groaned and leaned back, supporting himself on shaky arms, hoping he didn't tip backwards into the fountain before Harry made him come.

Draco barely remembered his drunken blow job back at Hogwarts, only that it felt warm and wonderful, and there was a lot of spitting at the end. This was an unforgettable moment, with the scent of the Manor's rose gardens hanging heavy in the humid air, the soft lapping of the pool behind him, and Harry's eager suction between his spread legs. He wanted to bury his fingers in the soft black hair that bobbed before him, but he feared losing his grip. The hard concrete was hell on his arse, and he'd have a stiff neck tomorrow from tensing, but none of that mattered. The only thing Draco cared about right now were the shocks of pleasure shooting up and down his spine, and he tried to hold on and make it last. He was successful... until he caught sight of Harry's other hand in his own trousers, pulling himself off. The fact that Harry was getting off on it snapped Draco's control, and he came without warning.

Rather than spitting messily, Harry swallowed with an impassioned groan. As Draco collapsed forward, Harry stood and wound a hand through Draco's hair. "Let me see you," he gasped, turning Draco's face upwards with a not so gentle yank. Draco could only stare as Harry stroked that hard cock over his face, brushing the tip against his lips, smearing them with fluid that was already leaking out.

Draco didn't protest. How could he? Harry had just given him the orgasm of his life, and the wrecked look on his face was fucking gorgeous. He tentatively stuck the tip of his tongue out and licked away a bead of precome. It didn't taste bad. More confidently, he opened his mouth wider, and lapped at the head of Harry's prick.

"Fuck!" Harry shuddered and began to come, shooting it mostly down Draco's chin and neck. His fingers tightened to the point of pain in Draco's hair, but he let go and braced himself on Draco's shoulder after only a moment. They both took a second to regain their composure, faces only a hair's breadth away, before Harry sighed and caught Draco's lips with his again. His own come smeared down his chin, and Draco would have thought this was disgusting only days ago, but now it only made him want to drag Harry up to bed.

They parted, and Draco gingerly pulled his sticky shirt away from his skin. "Maybe we should wash off," he said, wrinkling his nose. He caught the devious expression on Harry's face. "No, I didn't mean - Damn you!" Harry pushed him back and he fell into the pool with a splash. It wasn't deep enough to go under, with barely a foot of water left in the bottom. Draco growled and reached up, grasping Harry's shirt and toppling him over the edge to join him. "See how you like it!"

Harry was laughing uncontrollably now. "Getting laid puts you in a good mood," Draco observed, unable to resist laughing as well. Harry grinned and slapped water in his direction, which Draco returned, flicking a lilypad at Harry's face as well.

"Is this us now?" Harry wondered out loud.

_Us now._

"Sex and childish shenanigans? Why not," Draco shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "It's better than fighting." _It's better than I hoped my life could be after the war._

His answer, non-committal as it was, must have pleased Harry, because his smile was brighter than the moon. Draco only had a second to appreciate it; the fountain, dead since Voldemort had moved into the Manor, turned back on in a sudden burst of cool water that sent them scrambling out of the pool.


	7. On The Secretion of Nectar

****September arrived with August's heatwave solidly in tow. One morning found Harry and Draco lying together in bed, surrounded by Cooling Charms, totally spent after a night of debauchery.

After they'd decided to stop denying their desires, it was like a dam had burst. Harry ran a campaign of all-out seduction, and Draco was only too happy to be seduced. They'd progressed to full out fucking a week ago, and couldn't keep their hands off one another. It didn't feel like a big step to Draco - that line had already been crossed when they kissed for the first time. In any case, the emotional connection of their night in the fountain was far more intimate in his mind than any sort of penetration.

But despite stubbornly holding onto several other boundaries, he'd crossed one last night.

"I'm glad you stayed," Harry whispered in his ear as he awoke. "Why didn't you ever sleep in here before?"

"I need some semblance of privacy," Draco yawned. "But I suppose it's alright on occasion." Mostly he'd been too exhausted to move.

"Sometimes at night I think about you stretched out on the bed in the room down the hall, all sexy on those silk sheets, and it drives me crazy."

Draco luxuriated in the praise Harry gave him. Harry's loose tongue in the bedroom had been a lovely little discovery. It could be sharp and wounding, but more often these days Harry wielded it for Draco's pleasure.

"Wish I wasn't so tired, I'd suck you off before breakfast." He nuzzled the soft place beneath Draco's ear that made him whimper. "I love waking you up like that." Harry had in fact crawled into Draco's bed several times and roused him that way.

"You just love cock."

"You were the one begging for it last night," Harry teased.

"I think it's just you, really," Draco said thoughtfully.

"It doesn't have to be one way or the other. Hermione told me there's some sort of sliding scale Muggles use."

"When were you talking to Hermione about sucking off blokes? Did she need tips?" Harry smacked him with a pillow.

"It was after I kissed Dean, there was no 'sucking' involved." He turned contemplative. "I'm pretty sure she knows about us, though."

"Erm." Somehow that made Draco uncomfortable. Harry was _his_ secret. Draco was aware that if his father were still alive, it would have been a source of anguish for him, and his relationship with Harry would be an impossibility. But freed from any familial expectation, Draco had decided firmly to not judge his new found sexual preferences too closely, because what did they matter? He was very accomplished in not thinking about worrisome things, after all.

But he was also under no illusion that if the wider world were to find out exactly what their Golden Boy was doing, there'd be a scandal. The Ministry would probably find some way to throw Draco into Azkaban, if they could.

Harry caught Draco's anxious expression. "Are you worried what she'll think?"

"It's not that, really."

Harry appeared doubtful. "Seriously," Draco reassured him, unwilling to argue this early in the morning. "As I said, I like my privacy. That's all."

"We've certainly got it here. I don't even think I've seen all the rooms in this house."

"You just want to fuck in all of them."

Harry lit up. "Can we?"

"Not in the East Wing. I don't know if my knees can take the parquet."

"It can be my turn in those rooms, then." Draco's cock gave a feeble twitch at the image of Harry on all fours in the drawing room, crying out as Draco thrust into him.

He buried his head in a pillow, groaning. "Damn you! Breakfast first, fucking later."

~~~

Of course, it wasn't all smooth sailing. They were still Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, even if they had fallen into a whirlwind of sex.

Some days, Harry still disappeared and returned in a sulk. Some days, Draco threw a tantrum over the smallest perceived slight. After gaining Harry's trust and access to his body, Draco actually felt more secure in pissing him off. Not once did they fight in front of Julian again, but alone, it was no holds barred. Tussling, kissing, every passion they had was finally free to be unleashed.

Once Draco pulled on Harry's hair until he nearly cried around his mouthful of cock. Once Harry manoeuvred Draco's limbs into strangely uncomfortable positions, and then hissed in his ear all the things he would do if Draco could just hold on for one more minute. More than once they softly caressed each other until it was unthinkable that one shouldn't be inside the other, and everything was sweet bliss. Draco secretly liked those days the best.

Today Harry fucked him slowly.

They'd sworn like Jarveys at each other for an hour after breakfast, when Draco had insulted Delby for burning his eggs and Harry told him off for it. Somehow it had devolved into a screaming match about Draco's outdated thinking; he then dared Harry to dismiss the elves and try looking after the house and Julian himself. Two hallways and a random unused bedroom later they fell through the door, with Harry managing to get to his feet first and yank Draco up by the wrist. He began to push Draco against the wall, but at the aroused gasp Draco made at being manhandled, Harry changed tactics mid-way and threw Draco across the bed instead.

It was one of the smaller guest rooms. Draco absently thought it may have been last used when his mother came to the Manor while Lucius was courting her. It wasn't proper for an unmarried lady to stay near the main bedrooms.  

In that regard it wasn't proper for Draco to be twisting under Harry as his arse was filled with Harry's cock over and over, either, but Draco wasn't complaining. Of course, that could have just been the doily stuffed in his mouth.

As soon as Draco had hit the bed, Harry climbed over him and secured his wrists with a wandless _Incarcerous._ He'd asked permission with his eyes, and Draco had arched up wordlessly, unwilling to voice his desire to be held down and fucked but not ashamed enough to deny himself the pleasure. He _then_ continued the previous argument as Harry summoned lube and pushed inside him, which was apparently going too far, as that's when he found himself muted by lace.

 _It was worth it,_ Draco thought as Harry took him apart.

His arms started to ache and he squirmed underneath Harry, trying to find a more comfortable position to enjoy the thorough pounding he was receiving. The intensity of anal sex had been a total surprise to Draco, who'd always assumed it was something that submissive men just put up with. Instead, it was often too much - too much pleasure, too much stimulation. Draco actually had trouble coming sometimes, held on the edge by the overwhelming feeling of fullness, but he did enjoy the ride.

Harry was taking his time today, going deep but at a tortuously slow pace. Draco breathed hard through his nose and tried to spit out the doily. Harry noticed, but only smirked, and continued to thrust in at a glacial pace, grinding against Draco's arsehole when he was fully seated, and then pulling out smoothly.

Draco took it for as long as he could stand, but eventually the drag of Harry's cock against his prostate became too much. He shook his head back and forth, mumbling "Harry, please" through his gag. Harry leaned down and kissed the corner of his mouth.

"You wanna come?" Draco nodded vigorously. "I know you need more than this, so you'll just have to wait for me to finish."

"You arsehole!" Draco tried to yell, but it came out as "u rshl" through the lace. Harry simply laughed as he continued his leisurely thrusting. Draco struggled against his magical bonds, feeling entirely helpless, and unbearably turned on by that very fact. He pushed back against Harry as best he could, and his lover sighed and finally sped up.

"Fuck, the way you move, Draco. The way you take it, my god." The drawn out fucking finally caught up to Harry, and he thrust wildly as he started coming, moaning all the while how sexy Draco was and how well he took a cock.

Draco arched underneath him, unsure how much more he _could_ take as Harry filled him with come and then continued to lazily move his hips back and forth. Tears of frustration streamed down Draco's face as Harry finally reached up for the gag.

"You ok?" Draco swallowed his spit and glared half-heartedly.

"All right, you've had your fun."

"You know you love it," Harry murmured into Draco's mouth as he bent down for a kiss. Draco couldn't argue, but he did still want to come.

"Harry, please," he whispered between kisses, knowing how hot it made Harry when he begged. "Have a little mercy." Sure enough, Harry's eyes glazed over, and he licked his lips.

"Yeah, alright. Your turn." He pulled out, and Draco hissed. "Sore?" Draco nodded. "Poor baby. Let me kiss it better." He lifted Draco's legs over his shoulder and moved lower on the bed.

"What?" Harry had licked him down there before, but only as preparation. "But you just - "

"Shh." Harry stared down at him hungrily. "Ouch. That does look sore." He rubbed his thumb over Draco's puffy rim, drawing out a sharp gasp.

 _Merlin, he is going to kill me one of these days._ Harry looked up, checking in with Draco that he could take it; Draco answered by spreading his legs wider.

"That's what I thought," Harry said, and put his lips against Draco's hole and sucked.

Draco cried out in agonised pleasure, unsure if he wanted more or couldn't stand another second. Harry's tongue pressed inside, making sloppy noises as he lapped up his own spunk, and it was so absolutely filthy that Draco thought he might come untouched. He didn't have long to wonder; Harry snuck one hand upwards and started to jerk him off, licking his sensitive arsehole the entire time.

Finally it was too much, and Draco came explosively, shrieking and twisting in his bonds. Harry stroked him through it, and with a wave cancelled the _Incarcerous_ holding him down. Draco immediately batted his hand away.

"Leave off." He splayed out on the bed, shaking just a bit. "Holy shit. What brought that on?"

Harry collapsed beside him. "Seriously? You did, you prat. I had to shut you up somehow." The soft manner in which Harry stroked and petted Draco was at odds with his words.

"I'd say remind me to argue more often, but neither of us need to be persuaded. Merlin _fuck_ Harry, I'm going to feel that for a week." They lay panting and sweating for a moment before Harry summoned his wand to cast a Cooling Charm.

"You'd tell me to stop if I ever did something you didn't like, right?" Harry asked quietly.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Please. When have you known me to do anything I don't want?" _Many things, actually, so I suppose it's a fair question._

Harry raised up on his elbow, looking down at Draco. "Seriously. If I ever go too far - "

"- I'll stop you," Draco finished for him. This was absurd. Harry always looked Draco in the eye, searching for a _yes._ And while Draco enjoyed being held down in the heat of the moment - and hadn't _that_ come as a surprise - in the end it was his own choice to submit. He wasn't truly being forced.

"You can't really... stop me, though. So just make sure you say something."

Draco scoffed. "I could so." Harry looked at him skeptically. "I could! I don't need magic to shove you off me."

"I don't know, maybe I shouldn't tie you up and stuff."

Draco sat up and began searching for his clothes angrily. It was one thing for Harry to overpower him during sex games. It was quite another to think him _weak._ "I'm not fucking _helpless._ You think to ask me this now? After the past couple of months? What, do you think you've just been in charge of me all this time?"

Truthfully, Draco didn't think he could stop Harry even _with_ his magic intact. He'd never figured out wandless magic, after all, and Harry was powerful. But he trusted Harry.

Maybe he shouldn't.

"Don't storm off, Draco. Let's just, I dunno, think of a safe word."

"I've got a safe word. Three in fact. Fuck you, Potter."

"Draco, wait!" Harry called out, but Draco was already marching down the hallway.

~~~

The fight didn't last - neither were willing to deny themselves sex now that they had discovered it, they were only twenty after all. But it wasn't resolved, either. Draco simply made himself scarce that evening, taking dinner in his suite, until he felt he'd made Harry wait a sufficient amount of time. He then showed up in Harry's bed that night and kissed him breathless. Harry didn't bring up the fight, and Draco didn't continue to sulk about it.

But he slept in his own room.

Holkey woke him earlier than he liked. "Master Draco must be rising, Master Harry's friends are coming over."

"Ugh. Granger. Wait, friends? Plural? It better not be Weasel."

It was. Weasley stood very uncomfortably beside - Hermione, Draco was supposed to say - and he looked positively ill once Draco entered the room.

"Harry isn't here yet? What a surprise. He could sleep through another war, I think." Weasley's face went red at Draco's comment.

"Why are you here?" Hermione elbowed him, but it didn't take the mutinous look off his face.

"I _live_ here, Weasel."

"Don't think I've forgotten how weird that is, either."

_If only you knew, Weasel._

Harry finally entered, Julian in tow. Draco couldn't help but smile as his brother wiggled happily, even if he did shout "Won!"

"Hey little mate, good to see you." Draco hadn't put much thought into how strange it would be for Julian to stop seeing the Weasleys; he'd been too happy to have him mostly to himself.

"Are you taking him along today?" he asked Harry casually. "Seems he misses Wea- Ron." _Ha, I didn't even have to be asked._ The strangeness of saying Weasley's first name was worth it for the gobsmacked look on his face.

"Nah, we're going out to Luna's place. I'm not sure it's exactly childproofed. Might hit up Diagon after that." Harry didn't look as excited about that portion of the day. "You, um, you wanna come along?"

Ron coughed like he was having a fit, and Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly. Ron, you know very well that Harry's-"

"Yeah, yeah, Harry's got a charity case," Ron finished loudly. Harry blushed, and Draco got the distinct impression that there was something they weren't telling him.

_Do... do they both know?_

"I bet Jules would love to go play by the fountain," Harry suggested.

"I'll bet," Draco grumbled, feeling cast aside. He picked up Julian, whose face fell as he was carried out of the parlour.

Draco spent the rest of the day spoiling Julian, giving him every favourite treat and toy. When Harry returned that night, both Malfoys were ensconced in the nursery reading.

"Hey," Harry said dully. "How was your day?"

"Julian isn't up to reading Martin Miggs yet, but we are certainly enjoying the pictures."

"Miggs!" Julian pointed avidly towards a picture of Martin driving a car the wrong way.

"You learned a new word, and it's Martin Miggs?" Harry smiled wearily. "Ron will love that."

"Yes, how was your visit? Did you go to Diagon with all your acceptable friends?"

"Come off it Draco, you wouldn't have gone anyway."

"Really? Perhaps I'd love to be seen out and about with the Boy Who Lived. Do wonders for my reputation." None of this was true, but Draco felt slighted.

"Yeah, it would have done wonders when the _Prophet_ tracked me down and asked what the hell I'm doing here with you," Harry replied testily, before shutting his mouth with a look that said he wished he hadn't spoken.

Cold dread settled in Draco's stomach. "What?"

"Nothing." Harry turned toward the door, but then wheeled back around. "I wasn't keeping you a secret, you know. All of my - my family knows we live here. Kingsley, Robards, and some of the Aurors, too."

"And someone told tales." Draco leaned back and blew a lock of hair out of his eyes. "Fuck."

"Fuck!"

Both Harry and Draco stared at Julian in shock, then yelled simultaneously.

"No! Bad word!"

"Julian, no!"

Julian frowned. "No?" His little lip trembled.

"Oh, sweet." Draco swept him up in his arms. "This is all our fault. We'll practise your other words tomorrow." He gently laid his little brother down in his cot. "Come spell his mobile for me, Harry." Draco leaned in close to whisper in Harry's ear as he approached. "And don't think you're getting out of that conversation. You're going to tell me exactly what happened today."

Harry blanched, but cast the motion spell over Julian's mobile. "Here, Jules. Draco is right, go to sleep." He leaned in to kiss Julian on his forehead, and Draco found himself touched by the scene.

They exited the room as quietly as they could, and Draco turned to Harry. "So, reporter. Spill."

"I'll tell you on the way to the kitchen, I'm starving." Draco followed Harry down the hall, well aware of his strange impulses to snack at night and not bother the elves about it.

"Look," Harry said as they walked. "It wasn't that big of a deal. Someone asked Ginny about us, like they do all the time, and she accidentally let it slip that I moved here."

" _Accidentally._ I'm so sure." Draco was still worried Ginny Weasley was going to show up wielding a Bat-bogey hex for the ages, angry at him for stealing her man.

"I don't actually think it was on purpose. She's not so mad at me anymore. Probably because she feels like I proved her right, moving in here. Anyway, things are going pretty great for her. She's just been signed to the Harpies, first string." There was a note of pride in Harry's voice, despite his previous relationship drama with Ginny.

"So littlest Weasley blabs to the papers that you live in the Manor, and then what? Where do I come in?"

"Your probation files are public record, apparently."

Right. Probation. Draco had to inform his officer where he'd moved, and lied to fulfill his work requirement by saying Harry contracted him to work on the house, seeing as he knew it so well.

"And," Harry added as they made their way down the stairs, "the adoption records are public, too."

"So some intrepid _Prophet_ reporter dug them up and confronted you about it? Please tell me it wasn't Skeeter."

"No, some bloke I'd never seen before."

"What exactly did he ask you, then?"

Harry sighed, pushing the kitchen door open. "He asked if I was living at Malfoy Manor with... with you and Julian."

"Go on. You can say it. I'm sure a _Prophet_ reporter had a much more colourful way of phrasing that."

"With Lucius Malfoy's misbegotten spawn." Harry grimaced. "I threatened to hex him, if it makes you feel any better."

"It doesn't." Draco knew how papers operated. Harry's threats would only spur them on, make them think he had something to hide. "I suppose that cat's out of the bag, then. Will it affect your joining the Aurors eventually?"

Harry looked at him strangely. "You're taking this rather well."

Inside, Draco was panicking. But it would do no good to reveal that to Harry. _This may spell the end of our... relationship, and while I'd miss it, I have to consider Julian. If this ends, I want to stay here._

"It was bound to come out sooner or later. They only know I live here. It's perfectly natural you'd have a caretaker for Julian and the Manor, especially if you plan to start a career."

"I don't _know_ if I plan to start a bloody career. The next round of training doesn't start until March, I missed the last one. They've only been asking me to come in and show my face because they're under a lot of pressure, with all the magical anomalies." Harry grabbed a loaf of bread. "Don't you have any marmalade around here?"

Draco shrugged. "Somewhere. I don't know my way around a kitchen."

"Thank God for house-elves, right?" Harry said sarcastically. "Oh, here it is." He set about trying to free the stuck jar lid, finally slamming it down in frustration. "Are you just going to watch me?"

"What do you expect me to do? You're the one with a wand. _Alohomora_ it or something."

Harry laughed morbidly, "That reporter asked if you were my 'spoils of war,' like you're some kind of slave. I'd be out of luck, wouldn't I?" He finally succeeded in opening the jar and dipped his fingers straight into the marmalade.

Draco didn't even scold him; he was too busy running that phrase over in his mind. _Spoils of war._ As if he were something to be traded or sold.

_I was though, wasn't I? My father treated me like a possession, then he sold me out to Voldemort. The Ministry did whatever they pleased with me, and now... now I've given myself up to Harry._

"You don't own me," he said aloud. Harry paused with a slice of bread halfway to his mouth.

"No shit."

"If I wanted to leave, I could," Draco continued, his voice becoming desperate.

Harry took a bite of his sloppy marmalade bread and chewed thoughtfully before swallowing. "Why would you want to?"

"I can go where I want!" Draco's tone grew increasingly shrill. "I'm not your possession!"

"Calm down! I never said you were!" Harry wiped his fingers on his jeans and looked at Draco worriedly. "You... you don't want to leave, right? I mean -" He glanced away. "You couldn't leave Jules."

_It isn't only Jules I'd be leaving._

The thought of never seeing Harry again made Draco feel hollow. It was an empty threat, in any case - where would he go, after all? Back to Craik? The Diagon market? The Manor wards shimmered around him, reminding him of their presence.

No, this was his home, and now that he'd regained it he wouldn't be giving up so easily. But Harry needed to be made aware of where Draco was coming from.

"I wouldn't leave," he began haltingly. "But you don't understand, Harry, how it still hurts. They herded me into a circle and ripped my magic from me, turned me weak and ineffectual. I don't have the choices you do, the opportunities, and I never will. And you will never know how this feels."

"Not like you do, no. But I have felt it, briefly," Harry revealed. "You said a circle?" Draco nodded, and Harry furrowed his brow. "There are dead spots in the Ministry, and where those magic shock waves hit in Diagon and a few other places. Magic just doesn't exist there. Walking in feels like I'm suffocating."

Draco sat down at the table slowly, intrigued, and also glad to leave his own trauma aside. "Are there many of these spots?"

"About 20 now. That's actually what Robards asked me to do, since I'm not in official training but don't want to lose my spot yet. The apprentice Aurors take statements from people who were nearby, and follow up. They're stretched pretty thin so I've gone out with them a few times."

Several things clicked into place for Draco. "In public? They want people to see you, to think Harry Potter is on the case." Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and Draco continued. "Robards is playing on your guilt, you know. For not joining up right away."

"Well, I always said I would." Trepidation flashed across his face.

"You don't owe them anything. You don't owe _anyone._ I thought you knew that by now, you came here of your own accord after all." Draco could tell Harry didn't totally believe him. Suddenly he could see it in his mind's eye: Harry would eventually give in and join the Aurors, and Draco would be left behind, too inconvenient and problematic for a Ministry man. Harry would never make him leave Julian, but Harry would leave _him,_ and Draco would be like a spectre in his own home, flitting around the edges of Harry's life.

It was best he get used to the idea now. Draco was, after all, used to disappointment.

~~~

It was self-defeating to say _I told you so_ to himself, but sure enough, Harry began spending more time away from the Manor.

Draco knew where he was on some occasions: a Harpies match to cheer on Weasley, babysitting Teddy as he tried to meet his obligations as a godfather. Draco was of course not invited, but Harry did tell him his plans. Other times he was not so forthcoming, and Draco spent the day alone with Julian, wondering. He missed Harry, and he hated himself for it. It didn't make him feel any better that he'd been right all along. Secretly, he'd hoped he was wrong.

As Julian turned 18 months old, Draco began to worry about him. He was walking just fine, but he hadn't progressed much further in his language skills. Hermione had reassured Draco this was normal; the fact he'd asked for her advice just showed how concerned he was. Regardless of average childhood milestones, Draco vowed to read more to Julian, and focus on speaking directly to him, rather than simply in his presence. He'd been very wiggly today, but Draco finally managed to get him to sit still after dinner and look at a book.

"The green dragon was larger than the blue, and Dunstan was afraid. There," Draco pointed to the smaller of the illustrated creatures. "Blue. Can you say blue?"

Julian tapped the green drawing. "Fire!"

"Indeed, they breathe - oh, Firebreath? Yes, he's green as well. Can you say green? _Green,_ " he reiterated, pointing to the verdant dragon, and then to his own shirt, which was a pale moss colour. "Green."

Julian furrowed his brow, and Draco scanned the room for more green objects. _Like Harry's eyes,_ came the thought, and Draco tamped it down. He hadn't looked Harry in the eyes properly for days. The hard fucking Draco received earlier in the week had been in the dark, on his knees, and Harry had known better than to roll over and fall asleep in Draco's bed - even if he had crawled into it at two in the morning.

A spinning top from the Wheezes children's line caught Draco's attention. "This top is green," he said, reaching for it. "A particularly garish shade of it, in fact. Here, green. _Green._ " He pointed to all the green objects in succession.

"Top!" Julian reached for the spinning toy, and Draco sighed.

"Well, that's a new word at least." Maybe it was time Draco accepted he was pants at teaching and ask Harry to hire a tutor.

Julian's attention was firmly fixed on the top now, so Draco gave up on reading time and put him into his playpen. Parenting was more stressful than he'd ever expected. Of course, back when he thought fatherhood was in his future, he'd assumed there would be a wife in the picture to take care of most things. Holkey could change a diaper and fix Julian's meals, but she couldn't teach him to read or write or use magic. Governesses and tutors would have been available to Julian easily if Draco held his old status; now he would have to depend on Harry to arrange these things and hope he could actually find someone willing to set foot in Malfoy Manor.

But Harry had made himself scarce.

As if he could read his older brother's mind, Julian tossed the top over the playpen and shouted "Har-reee!" He'd managed full names but put strange pauses between the syllables.

"Harry isn't here, little star." Draco wearily picked up the top and handed it back, shaking his finger when Julian made to throw it out again. "Don't do that, I won't be here to pick it up in a minute."

"No Day-co. Give Har-ree." The top became airborne again as Julian pouted.

"My kingdom for a sticking charm," Draco muttered. "Look, _Har-ree_ is gone. And why can't I get an 'r' in my name?" Julian's lip started to wobble when the top wasn't immediately handed back. "Fine, take it. This is the last time, I'm warning you."

_Thunk._

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. "Holkey!" The elf appeared immediately. "Settle Julian down for bed."

"Is it not being a bit early, Master Draco?" Holkey was far more apt to question Draco ever since Harry had forbade self-punishment in the Manor.

"It is. But Master Draco needs a nice relaxing bath, alright? Master Draco can't deal with colours or toys anymore today." Julian sniffled and Draco felt like a monster, but he turned on his heel and left the room just the same, heading down the hall toward his suite.

The days were growing shorter now that the equinox had passed. Draco took in the sunset from his balcony, gazing out over the Wiltshire countryside as it was bathed in orange and gold. Three peacocks strutted below, calling occasionally, their feathers gleaming in the waning sunlight. Deep in his bones he could feel the ley lines that stretched from Stonehenge directly under the Manor, and it soothed him to feel so connected, like he was dug into the earth even from the first floor of the house.

Even more soothing would be the bath that awaited him.

The sun finally dipped below the horizon, and Draco went back inside. Holkey had taken Draco's hint and left the massive tub set up perfectly for him to soak in after she had put Julian down for the night. She knew exactly what kind of bath Draco enjoyed: very deep, filled with bubbles, and today, violet scented.

Draco stretched one hand out to test the water; it was perfect. There was one thing missing, but he decided not to trouble Holkey. Instead he searched the bottom of his bureau drawer for the small collection of items he'd brought back from Craik and fished out the box of matches. After three candles were lit, the stage was set for perfect relaxation and Draco sank into the warm bath with a grateful sigh.

 _This is so much more than I ever hoped for after the war. Even without Harry, I'll have Julian and the Manor and good food and my own rooms. I'm sure some people think that's more than I deserve._ Draco steadfastly ignored the little voice in his head that whispered how lonely a life that was. The bath was no time for worry.

Soon he began to drift off, slipping lower in the water. Bubbles floated up and tickled his nose and Draco sneezed.

"Bless you."

The words seemed to come from thin air, and Draco jerked upright in shock, water splashing from the tub. _Is there a portrait I forgot in here?_

He scanned the room and saw movement in the doorway; Harry was revealed in one fluid swoop of his invisibility cloak, from head all the way to trainer-clad feet. "Thought I'd join you," he grinned.

Draco sank back down into the tub until he was covered in bubbles up to his chin. "I forgot about that fucking thing," he scowled. "Why are you in that?"

Harry shrugged. "I was at the Ministry and I didn't want to bother with all the fuss on my way in and out. It's easier this way."

"And what did you get up to over there?" Harry frowned. "Never mind. I don't want to talk politics in the bath."

Seemingly relieved, Harry shut the door behind him and came closer. "It does seem like a pretty nice bath. Smells like the garden."

"It's luscious, and you are disturbing me."

"How about I join you?" Harry asked, peering in as if he were trying to see Draco's cock through all the bubbles.

Draco wanted do tell him to piss off, but Harry's eyes were bright with desire, and Draco _had_ missed him after all. "You'll splash the water," he warned even as he sat up to make room.

"I'll cast a shield charm." Harry was already pulling his clothes off and Draco found himself hardening as each inch of skin was exposed.

Harry wasn't nearly as graceful as Draco and he did splash water as he lowered himself in. With a wave of his hand he cast _Protego_ around them, and all further droplets were caught by the charm as if there was an invisible wall around the massive bathtub.

"Showoff," Draco mumbled as Harry's legs brushed against his.

"I left my wand in my pocket."

"Oh did you?" Draco nudged Harry's already half-hard prick with his foot. Harry blushed and rose to his knees, crawling in the massive tub until he was perched directly over Draco.

"I missed you," he whispered into Draco's mouth before kissing him. For a moment Draco was too shocked by the sweet declaration to respond, but Harry's mouth quickly coaxed him into returning the kiss. He raised a hand to stroke Harry's sides, and found his fingers clasped and drawn downwards. "Touch me," Harry pleaded. "Get me ready."

"Ready for what?" Draco asked between kisses.

Harry pulled back with a cheeky smile. "I want to ride you."

Draco shuddered, the water rippling around him. "Oh, fuck yes." He slipped his fingers back and over Harry's arse, stroking the crease until he found his entrance. The water wasn't actually the best lube, so Draco leaned over for a bottle of shampoo, dumping a generous portion in his hand before returning to his task.

The first finger slipped in easily, but the second took a bit of effort. Harry's eyes were half closed in pleasure, but he winced as Draco finally had both fully buried inside him. "Give me a minute," he panted, and Draco paused. After a few steadying breaths, Harry began to rock back and forth, fucking himself on Draco's hand. It was a gorgeous sight.

The drag of Harry's cock against his own had Draco edging closer than he wanted. Mercifully Harry nodded down at him. "I'm ready." Draco slowly pulled his fingers out and gripped his cock, holding it still for Harry.

Harry moved further into Draco's lap, bracing one hand on a pale shoulder and reaching behind himself with the other to guide Draco's cock inside of himself. As he was breached, he moaned wantonly, and sank down faster - perhaps too fast, if his sharp gasp was anything to go by, but he didn't stop until Draco was completely seated in his arse, the bubbles hiding the place where they were joined.

Harry was warmer inside than the water, and Draco felt like he was going to melt. He held the edge of the tub to keep himself upright as Harry gripped his shoulders and began bouncing in his lap. The sight of Harry moving sensuously above him, taking his own pleasure, was wildly erotic and Draco fervently wished he could still use a Pensieve.

"You're so beautiful." Harry gazed down at Draco with such a depth of emotion in his eyes that it was frightening.

The candlelight flickered, casting shadows across Harry's naked chest and causing the soapy droplets that covered him to sparkle. Draco was unable to resist answering him in kind. "So are you," he admitted. "Harry, the way you feel, I..." _I missed you too, I want this always, I want_ you _always... Please..._ He blinked - was that a tear? His face was already wet, who could tell.

Harry began trembling, and Draco was grateful for the shield spell, otherwise they would be flooding the ensuite as the water sloshed around them. The clenching heat surrounding his cock grew tighter, and Harry dug his fingers into Draco's shoulders, crying out.

"Did... did you come?" Harry nodded shakily, and Draco was disappointed he had missed the visual. But Harry's blown-out pupils and open, panting mouth turned Draco on immensely, as did the knowledge Harry had just come around his cock. He sank down further in the water to brace his feet against the back of the tub, and began thrusting up into Harry harder. Harry's head lolled back and forth and he made outrageous noises as he allowed himself to be fucked; it echoed off the tile walls, at once both lewd and sensual. Draco finally crested his peak with a shout of his own.

Harry slumped over, his face in the crook of Draco's neck, and Draco put one arm around him. They stayed like that until the water went cold.

Afterwards, they stumbled out of the ensuite wrapped in plush bathrobes. Neither said a word as Draco opened the balcony doors to let out some of the humidity. The moonlight flooded in, and Draco turned to find Harry spread across his bed, eyes already closing.

The admonishment that Harry couldn't sleep there died in his throat. Draco had gone too far, was in too deep; he'd realised during the bath that any attempts to resist Harry were futile. It didn't change the inevitable outcome, of course. Draco would lose Harry as surely as he'd lost most of the people he cared about. But oh, he desperately wanted to enjoy this while he could.

That selfish feeling, the insistence on fulfilling a desire even if it would eventually go sour, was actually part of why Draco adored Harry so much. Because that was like the old Draco, the Draco that stubbornly demanded to get everything he wanted. In the end, Narcissa had despaired of how she'd coddled her son, and Draco was well aware that being so spoiled had made him weak. But it had also made him _confident._ The old fire sparked again when Harry was present - for all his self doubts about his place in Harry's life, Draco couldn't ignore how exhilarated he felt around him.

It hadn't been an easy path for them, and sometimes the absurdity of the entire situation still struck Draco - Harry Potter living in Malfoy Manor, caring for the scion of the family? Caring for Draco? And Harry did feel deep affection for him; Draco wasn't stupid. He just knew that it wasn't enough.

He still wanted it.

Gingerly he sat on the bed, trying not to wake Harry. He was so handsome in the moonlight, though, that Draco couldn't help but touch him, smoothing a stray lock of hair from his face. The famous scar hadn't faded at all after the war, a stark reminder of exactly who Harry was and what he'd been through. Draco swallowed back the feeling that he didn't deserve this, didn't deserve Harry, after everything he'd done.

Draco wasn't brave. But he _was_ selfish, and he wasn't going to let Harry go until the bitter end.

Harry's eyes twitched back and forth beneath closed lids as Draco's fingers brushed his forehead. "'M not asleep."

"Shh. Yes you are. This is just a dream."

Yawning, Harry snuggled deeper into the bathrobe. Draco smiled and pulled the duvet over him, getting underneath as well. He snuggled up to Harry as gently as he could.

This was fine for now.

~~~

It was still dark out when Draco woke to find Harry staring at him.

"Is something wrong?"

Harry regarded him seriously for a moment before answering. "I could ask you the same question. You don't seem happy to see me when I come home anymore."

 _Home._ Draco's throat tightened. He didn't want to discuss this. _If I'm honest with him, it might hasten the end._

"I didn't seem happy in the bath?" he purred. "I can show you again."

"I'm serious." Harry bit his lip. "Is it too much? Am I too... I dunno. Intense?"

It broke Draco's heart to see Harry question himself the same way that Draco had been these past few weeks. "No, Harry."

"Good." The doubt didn't leave his eyes, however. Draco ran a soothing hand over his arm.

"Why would you think that?" He cursed himself for delving into the conversation, but Harry looked so pathetic.

"People leave me," he whispered.

 _Oh._ Was it possible Harry feared the same thing as Draco - abandonment?

 _Don't be an idiot, Draco Malfoy!_ \- but the words were already in his mouth. "People leave me, too."

Harry rolled over and stared at the ceiling. "You were so upset when that reporter said those things. That I owned you. I keep thinking you want to get away from me."

"I think that about _you,_ " Draco blurted out. Harry turned back to him incredulously. "Because you go, all the time, and I know you have better things out there, better people than me, people that deserve you."

"It's not about deserving-"

"You always want to _help_ people, and I'm in your way. I hold you back."

"What? No!"

Apparently, the conversation _was_ happening.

Draco couldn't look Harry in the face for this next part. He sat up and pulled the duvet aside, sitting on the edge of the bed, and focused on the curtains that fluttered around the open balcony door.

"We aren't equals, Harry. What we have, it's... special in a way I never anticipated, but it can't last, even if we want it to."

"What are you saying? What do you mean, not equals?" He sat up and crawled across the bed to Draco.

"You have so much more power than me. Not just raw magical power, but in society. I'm nothing, don't you see? You're Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. I'm the boy you fuck." It was harsh, but Draco felt it was true.

"No one knows -"

 _"Everyone_ knows. Don't be stupid. You're holed up in this old place with me and a baby, playing house. They think I _belong_ to you, and maybe they're right. But I'm also beneath you, so you'll..." He took a deep breath. "You'll move on."

Harry reached out and grasped Draco by the arm. "You could never belong to anyone but yourself, Draco. Even when I found you at the farm, and you were depressed and defeated after almost two years of loneliness, you were still ready to meet me with words or fists."

"The desperation of a beaten man."

"No. My equal." He crowded further into Draco's space. "Why do you think we work so well?"

Draco didn't pull back. He wasn't trying to _leave_ Harry, only make him see the situation for what it was. "Is that what this is? Us working?"

" _Yes!_ Or at least, I want it to be! You pulled me out of the world's worst sulk, fought with me, _challenged_ me! You aren't beneath me at all, Draco. I'm not fucking perfect, and you've grown up. We're a _family,_ you, me and Jules."

"You have other family-"

"But we made _this_ one." Harry swung his legs over the side of the bed so he was sitting pressed up against Draco. "I want this one." He leaned in closer and Draco knew he was about to be kissed. What Harry was saying sounded too good to be true.

"You just want to be needed," Draco whispered.

"Doesn't everyone?" Harry pleaded.

"You don't need me." His voice was nearly inaudible in his shame, but Harry heard him nonetheless.

"I do," he breathed into Draco's mouth before capturing his lips in a desperate kiss. "I love you."

Draco allowed himself to be kissed as those words sank in. _You what?_ He realised he hadn't said that out loud, and pulled back. "You what?" he repeated, astonished.

"Please don't leave me, Draco," was Harry's response. It wasn't an explanation, and Draco urgently needed one of those.

"Why?" he demanded.

Harry's eyes were wet. "Because I need you here with me."

"No, why would you say you..."

"Because it's true. Because I _do._ Because every time we kiss, every time I see you holding Jules, I _know._ " Harry tipped his chin up defiantly. "You don't have to say it back."

Draco certainly wasn't going to say it back. It was too sudden. But was it so terrible, to be on the receiving end of Harry's love? If Harry loved him, he wouldn't leave him.

No matter that everyone who'd ever claimed to love Draco had already left.

"I need you, too," he admitted, as much to himself as to Harry. That must have been enough, because Harry laughed through a sob that rose up. "No one is leaving anyone," he said fiercely, and pulled Draco back down on the bed with him.

~~~

They didn't make love again that night. ( _Merlin, really? Make love? I've turned into a simpering idiot._ ) Instead they kissed languidly until sleep took them once more. When he awoke again, the sun was up and Draco could hear birds in the garden. Harry snored beside him; Draco was always the earlier riser.

He sat up and looked around the bedroom that had been his for the majority of his life. After returning to the Manor he had taken down the last of his childish posters and trinkets, turning the room into one more suitable for an adult. If he had married, this and the other two rooms on this floor of the wing would have been combined into what his mother once called a "prince's suite." Eventually, after his father relinquished his position as head of house - when Draco had an heir, that is - Draco and whatever wife he married would move up into the Lord's suite.

Draco highly doubted Harry would ever want to live in Lucius and Narcissa's rooms. But perhaps, if Harry really wasn't going to leave him, they could still combine living quarters.

It was still so surreal. Would the Manor even acquiesce? Wizarding space had to be made with the consent of the house, after all.

He wondered if Harry even understood the magnitude of their coupling, how utterly different it was than what he had grown up expecting. Draco had been a jewel in the crown of Pure-blood wizardom, polished to perfection over years of delicate care and attention. It wasn't hubris to state what was true. There were only a small number of ancient families left, and even fewer with male heirs. It wasn't just the money, it wasn't just the estate - Draco had a traceable bloodline a mile long, and he once would have been at the centre of a war, with skirmishes fought by solicitors, matchmaking grandmothers, and everyone in between.

And Harry had managed, through a series of unthinkable circumstances, to capture Draco without a single negotiation other than the dance between themselves that had lasted all these years. When he ran a hand down Draco's smooth pale flank, or dug his fingers into soft white hair, he wasn't thinking of generations of Malfoys who had brought their blond locks over from France and bred them into their children. He wasn't thinking of the Blacks, so fearful of the sun on their faces that they shut themselves up in sitting rooms and passed down skin potions as family recipes. He was thinking of how good Draco's body felt against his, how sweet Draco tasted under his lips. When they argued, there was no underlying battle of family pride, just Draco's sharp tongue and Harry's sharp eyes, their adolescent duelling grown into mutual passion and even respect.

Draco hadn't been sold like a daughter, and he hadn't taken on the yoke of responsibility like a son. He had everything he'd known stripped from him, yes, but not by Harry. He hadn't chosen the abrupt turn his life had taken after the war, but _this,_ this passionate surrender - this was his choice, and one he made fully cognisant of his own flaws, and Harry's too.

 _He loves me. He loves_ me, _and who I am, and not what I represent. I rather think he loves me in spite of that._

Draco stared down at Harry's sleeping form in amazement and ran a hand down his back. He was beautiful, and powerful, and he _needed_ Draco. For the first time since they began their relationship, Draco began to feel like he was the conqueror as well.

Like they were equals.

Of course, they never truly could be: Draco was powerless, bereft of magic, and a criminal. Harry overlooked that, but that was because he was so forgiving. The rest of society wasn't, and there was still a chance that they could be torn apart. But here and now, faced with the _goodness_ of Harry Potter, Draco made a silent vow to himself.

_I will fight for this. I will be deserving of you, Harry._

~~~

Harry began sleeping in Draco's room every night. After a week, the Manor hadn't moved their suites into one, but Harry's small amount of toiletries had appeared in the ensuite, along with another wardrobe. Draco took that as a good sign. His mood improved, as did his sleeping patterns.

He still tended to rise before Harry, taking a few minutes to watch his - Partner? Lover? - ensconced in their shared bed. He wondered what word Harry used for their relationship, wondered if he should ask.

As if on cue, Harry's lashes fluttered and he began to wake. Draco kissed him softly.

"Good morning. Shall I call Holkey for tea?" He felt like being lazy and having breakfast in bed.

"What time is it?"

"A bit after ten, I think." Draco had become adept at telling time without a _Tempus_ charm when he was working at Craik.

Harry sat up and stretched. "I'm waiting on an owl. Should be here by noon. Can there be biscuits with tea?"

"Of course, silly. Holkey!" The elf appeared and Harry snatched the blankets up to his chin. "Tea and biscuits for Master Harry and myself." She disappeared with a crack and Harry groaned.

"I told you to warn me before you do that."

Draco arched a brow. "I don't see why you care."

"Elves don't need to know about my sex life," Harry grumbled, and Draco couldn't help but laugh at him.

"I think Holkey has seen worse than us en déshabillé." Harry nevertheless got out of bed and retrieved his clothes.

"Whose owl are you expecting?" Draco asked curiously as he watched Harry get dressed. Harry glanced away furtively. "You don't have to tell me. Sorry."

"No, it's... I should tell you." Harry pulled his shirt down over his head. "I would have told you last night, but I fell right asleep."

"Is it serious?" Holkey appeared with the tray and Draco waved her off, remembering to thank her; Harry looked pleased. He sat beside Draco and took a biscuit.

"It's a good serious. OK. So remember when you told me your magic was taken in a circle? That got me thinking. All the spots where magic is gone are also in a circle. Turns out the shape has nothing to do with each other, but that's what first made the connection in my mind. Anyway, I talked to Hermione about what happened to you-"

"You what?!" Draco's stomach dropped. "No one can know I told you! Harry, they'll take me away!"

"Hermione won't tell anyone. And I thought she might already know. She's been asking me questions: if you knew about the other Death Eater's sentences, since they were sealed, or if you'd talked about your own trial with me."

"And did she? Already know, I mean?" The prospect of being hauled away for violating his parole agreement still loomed over Draco, but he supposed he could trust Hermione, at least as far as Harry did.

"She suspected. And she told me what she's been investigating, what she's figured out about the magic stripping ritual, and she's put two and two together."

"Put what together? How the Unspeakables did it?" He had always morbidly wondered about the mechanics of the ritual, after all.

"I don't know that yet. But I know _why._ "

"To punish me and try to steal the Manor, obviously," Draco said bitterly. "Even though they were thwarted in that."

"I don't think that was their main motivation. You were an easy target because you were a Death Eater, and they could manipulate you and threaten you into never going public." Harry scowled. "But they really only wanted to use your magic."

"Use?" Draco felt sick. "They didn't just draw it out and into nothingness?"

"I don't know about your magic in particular, and I'm hoping not. But Rookwood was up to something in the Department during the war."

Draco recalled Ms. Janney's conversation with he and his mother, telling them the awful news. "Yes, he was working on a way to take magic away from Muggleborns."

"He was working on a way to take it for _himself._ Hermione thinks the other Unspeakables worked out the ritual and are using it to augment their own magical power. But it backfires sometimes."

"The explosions of magic," Draco realised. "That was the Unspeakables?"

Harry nodded. "The dead spots, too. I thought those might just be echoes from the magic-stealing ritual, but Hermione's right, it wouldn't happen so far from the Ministry."

"What happens to the magic?" Draco was afraid of the answer.

Harry became very quiet. "It's destroyed. Witches and wizards weren't meant to have so much power in them. It... overloads, I suppose. It's only experimental."

The implications of the 'experiment' sunk in for Draco. "I could get it back. Harry, I could _get it back._ "

"That's exactly what I thought." He took Draco's hands in his own. "What they did to you wasn't right. They know that, too, or they wouldn't have tried to hide it from the public."

"Because the public would be terrified such a ritual exists. And the fact it can be used..." Draco cried out in despair. "What if it's been used and destroyed?"

"Then we go forward as we have been. But you have to have hope, Draco. We're going to try. I'm going to make them listen to me." Harry had never seemed so fierce as he did in that moment. "The Ministry always wants me around because people believe in me, after all."

Draco fell into Harry's arms, overwhelmed. "But you hate being 'the Savior.' You would do this for me?"

" _Yes,_ Draco. I see how agonising this is for you. Sure, you can feel magic here in the Manor, but you never leave."

"I can't bear the looks I get, when people think I can't use magic because I'm evil in my bones." Draco began to cry. "I thought I'd gotten used to it. But the emptiness and shame, it never goes away."

Harry rubbed Draco's back as he held him. "I want you to feel whole again. I want everyone to know you aren't evil. And I don't want you to feel beholden to me, to think our relationship is anything but mutual. I know we talked about this, that I told you I see us as equals, but I also know how much it upsets you." He lay a soft kiss on Draco's temple. "Didn't I tell you I loved you?"

"You told me." Draco had even accepted it, though it seemed impossible. But the idea that Harry would _fight_ for him...

"This is what you've been going out for, isn't it? I'm such a fool. I thought you were leaving me."

"Never," Harry murmured into his hair.

Draco believed him. He allowed all the hope he'd attempted to crush to bloom inside him, and allowed Harry's light to fill all the empty dark places in his heart. As he wept on Harry's shoulder, he knew.

Draco was in love.


	8. Reversions to Long-lost Characters

"I know it's unpleasant. But tell me what happened, in as much detail as you can."

Hermione sat before Draco, armed with parchment and quill, an expectant look in her eyes. It never failed to surprise Draco that she could be so steady in the house where she was tortured by his aunt.

She and Weasley had arrived some time after lunch. Draco was hardly able to concentrate on what she was saying, or Weasley playing blocks with Julian in the corner of the room, or even Harry's hand holding his own in a supportive gesture. He was still stunned by the twin revelations: Harry telling him there was a chance he could get his magic back, and his own heart telling him he loved this man.

"I'm sorry," he said, trying to focus. "How will this help?"

"I need to know how the ritual was conducted in order to attempt a reversal," Hermione explained patiently. "It may be simple as bringing your magic nearby, since its natural state is to be inside you. But knowing the Department of Mysteries, it's likely to be something complicated with multiple steps."

"I didn't even know magic was like that," Harry mused.

"Like what?"

"A physical thing. Something you can draw out like... like water."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "Water is actually a good metaphor, because it's a well of power to draw on. You still have to be magical in the first place to use that power, and then the wand is like a conductor of the current produced."

"And you still have your first wand." Harry squeezed Draco's hand encouragingly. In the corner Weasley cleared his throat, but continued encouraging Julian to build his tower of blocks even higher.

"Can I use someone else's magic if mine is destroyed?" Draco asked Hermione. "Like... Dolohov, or Uncle Rodolphus. Someone who was Kissed." It made him sick to ask, but _some_ magic was better than none, right?

Harry frowned. "Wouldn't that blow you up like the Unspeakables?"

"No, I don't think so. That was because they already had magic, and Draco has none. But," Hermione continued, "It's likely that magic is gone already."

"Why?" Draco asked, fearful of the answer.

"It's gruesome, but they believe the Dark Mark enhanced the magic of the Death Eaters, and those who possessed it the longest would have the most power. They would have used someone like Dolohov's magic quite early in their experiments."

Draco's heart sank. "But I'm Marked, too." He still kept it hidden whenever possible, although Harry had seen every inch of his skin at this point. Neither ever mentioned it.

"You've only had the Mark a few years," Hermione said gently. "Everyone who was sent to Azkaban, either for imprisonment or the Kiss, had been loyal to Voldemort for much longer than that. I believe they only used nine or ten of the Death Eater's magic before they began to wonder if the ill effects were _caused_ by the Mark, and then moved on to unmarked collaborators, like your mother would have been."

"Some of them weren't Marked until the Dark Lord took over the Ministry, though. The Carrows' weren't, and maybe Travers." He racked his brain, trying to picture the long table that occupied the room just below their feet, the faces of the Death Eaters gathered around. Draco had not entered that room since his return to the Manor, choosing to compartmentalise all his terrible memories to that one space. His grip on Harry's hand tightened as he recalled.

"Dolohov, Nott, Mulciber, Crabbe... Jugson and Yaxley...Rowle, both Lestrange brothers. I don't... I don't know about Selwyn."

"So it's possible they stopped before they reached yours." Hermione didn't look as encouraged at the news as Draco hoped. "I have to be honest with you, it's also possible they used yours purposefully after the first few incidents, hoping less time with the Mark would result in more power but less instability."

Draco hung his head. "We'll try anyway," Harry stated firmly. "Now that we know all of this."

"I do appreciate your efforts, Hermione, even if I find it hard to be hopeful." She smiled at Draco.

"You're welcome. Honestly, this is a barbaric ritual. Stripping someone of their magic is the very definition of cruel and unusual punishment! As soon as I discovered it, I was appalled."

Draco was reminded of SPEW buttons. "How did you come by this information? You are only an apprentice, and a very principled one at that. I can't imagine they shared it with you willingly."

"I've been spying," Hermione said bluntly. "I borrowed Harry's cloak, which works even with the protective spells laid over the Department. I became suspicious months ago, because every time there was an incident, one of the Unspeakables from the Magic division would go on 'indefinite leave.' It was rather obvious they were involved."

"You never told Harry you were looking into this? That people had their magic taken? When you heard about them using the Death Eater's magic first, you must have known it was done to me."

"Honestly, I doubted that, since you were were only sentenced to probation. And Harry had so much on his mind - although he's not stupid, he apparently caught on that I was investigating. In any case, I asked Ron to help me. Turns out the Aurors were suspicious, too."

Weasley finally chimed in at Hermione's mention of him. "Every time there was an explosion, or one of those dead spots, the Unspeakables tried to chase us off, claiming it was national security or some shit. And some of the higher-ups in the Department of Mysteries, the ones who never even show their faces, have been sending memos up to the Aurors. They claim they've been tracking Dark magic, want us to raid houses. Robards thinks they just want artifacts to experiment on. We won't be used as their personal army." He crossed his arms proudly. Draco felt overwhelmed at being in a room with three Gryffindors, hellbent on doing the right thing.

"Can't he just tell them to fuck off?" Harry sneered. "Or have Kingsley do it, even?"

Hermione pursed her lips. "The Department is closely tied with the Wizengamot. All of Kingsley's reforms have to be voted on by a majority, so he's trying to keep support. If he antagonises the Unspeakables, he could very well find himself out of office when elections come."

"He hasn't been able to change anything so far." The weariness was clear in Harry's voice. "Everyone in the Wizengamot who wasn't directly involved in the war on Voldemort's side kept their seat. The people in power who wouldn't listen to me are still there. I know Kingsley's angry now, but he's been dragging his feet."

"Well now we have something to threaten them with." Weasley appeared gleeful. "They'll never want this to go public."

Draco felt as if he were in a play, come in during the second act, unaware of his lines or placement. "This isn't just about me," he realised out loud. "You're trying to bring down the Department of Mysteries."

Hermione beamed, and Draco got the impression that for all her appearance as a straight-laced academic, she also enjoying causing chaos. Harry laughed admiringly. "Fuck, Hermione, you don't do things halfway. I'd be lost without you."

She seemed to enjoy the praise. "It's been over two years since the war. We've allowed them to stall enough. I'm constantly pushed aside at the Ministry, told I'm too young, that I don't understand their 'traditions.'" Her eyeroll said it plainly: that for all their lip service paid to _tolerance,_ those in charge at the Ministry still distrusted the meddling of a Muggleborn.

"How did they become so powerful, anyways? The Unspeakables were never major players." _At least, Father never bothered with them._

"Perhaps they were, and have always been good at hiding it." Hermione picked her quill back up. "In any case, we need you for this next part."

 _Politics. I'm wrapped up in politics. Oh, Father would be so proud._  

"I still don't quite understand. You say the public would be upset if they knew magic could be taken wholesale, and I don't doubt that, but why should they care that it's happened to _me?_ Most of the 'public' was ready to see me Kissed."

Harry made a noise of distress. "Don't say that. I can't even bear to imagine it."

"The point still stands. What good will this do?"

Hermione sighed. "Perhaps none at all. We still need to see if your magic can be returned _before_ causing an uproar in the Department, in case things go south.'

"You fear they may destroy it in retaliation." The thought gave Draco chills.

"Yes. But you still may be able to help us. You're right that you personally don't draw as much sympathy as I'd like. But you draw the most of anyone who was stripped of their magic. You were barely a child - don't give me that look, it's true - and you weren't sent to prison."

"I hear you had a lot to do with that."

She blushed. "Myself and and some others, yes. We thought it was strange the trials were behind closed doors and... _reminded_ the Wizengamot of their duty to follow sentencing laws, and that while the trials were sealed, the Azkaban prisoner rolls weren't."

Draco swallowed thickly. "I suppose I should say thank you, then." The sting of being grateful to Hermione had softened over time.

"You do know what you did was wrong though, right Malfoy?" The time Draco had used Weasley's first name obviously didn't make an impression. "Because I wonder sometimes."

"Don't, Ron," Harry warned.

"What? Just because you forgave him doesn't mean I have. His father tried to kill Ginny-"

"Draco isn't his father!"

"Harry." Draco pulled his hand back. "You don't have to defend me." He turned to Weasley. "Harry's right, I'm not my father, but I did follow him blindly for many years. For that I do apologise. Our families have been at odds for a long time, but involving children in a feud is uncouth." _If anyone ever tried to harm Julian because of my own crimes, I would stop at nothing to see them punished._

"What about school?" Weasley continued stubbornly. "All that shit you said to me, to us."

"You gave as well as you got," Draco answered, hackles rising in spite of his genuine remorse. "Do I have to remind you how often you called me a ferret? That was a traumatising experience."

"More like hilarious." Weasley rolled his eyes dismissively.

"Ron." Hermione's sharp warning had him looking chastened. "This is what we are fighting against. The see-saw of power, the blame. We can't do this without Draco, and we can't do it if we continue to perpetuate the cycle." She rounded on Draco. "That goes for you as well. I know you and Harry have made peace -" Ron coughed loudly and Draco went red - "but you've been alone here. You'll have to show a bit more public contrition than just 'sorry I followed my father.' Most people do want to forgive and move on, but they're also scared of another war. That fear is what allows the Unspeakables to operate as they have been. We must assure them the path to peace is not to become the enemy, and we need someone from the other side acting in unity." It was a pretty speech; Draco wondered how long she had practised it.

"I..." _Contrition. A Malfoy never apologises, never shows weakness, has that not been bred into my bones?_

Yet he could recall his father kneeling before Voldemort, "My apologies, my Lord" spilling from his faithless lips.

Weasley snorted derisively. "Good luck, Hermione. He'll never say he's sorry."

Draco remained frozen, unsure of how to respond. Was he sorry? He thought he was. But he was also sorry for himself, and it was hard to separate his feelings of victimisation from the things he truly repented. _Telling Harry I am remorseful is one thing. Telling the world I am ashamed of my actions is quite another._

A crash from the corner startled them all. Julian, ever perceptive, had picked up on the tension in the room; his tower of blocks came tumbling down as he pushed it over in frustration.

"Ow!"

"Are you hurt?" Weasley leaned over to check, as Harry shot to his feet protectively. Draco waved him aside and went to his brother.

"He says that when he's unhappy. I think he may have seen me knock my elbow on his playpen one too many times and now he thinks it means displeasure." He knelt to take Julian in his arms, but was greeted by a smack. "Hey!" He took the tiny flailing hands in his own. "We don't hit people."

Tears began welling up in Julian's eyes. "Ow, Draco."

"Hey, you got my name right. Come here, sweet." He scooped Julian up in his arms and turned back to Hermione. "I feel so lost trying to teach him the simplest things."

"He needs to interact with other children," she said, not unkindly.

Weasley shook his head in resignation. "Bring him over, Mum misses him and he can see Teddy and Victoire."

As Draco held Julian, he remembered how Jack had acted afraid of him. That wasn't the world he wanted for his brother. Children were blameless, and they inherited the discord of their parents unless someone stepped in. He'd been set on his own course from the moment he was born, but that didn't excuse his inability to break away, not when others had been brave enough to do so.

He could accuse Weasley of being just as nasty in their schoolyard feud, but those were juvenile antics. If his side had won, they would have seen a child like Teddy put to death.

Draco gathered Julian close and faced the others. "I regret the prejudiced views I held before, and the harm they brought. It has become obvious to me the pain that hatred causes, the wedge it can drive between families. I was never cut out for violence, but I allowed myself to be swept up in it, and while that's an explanation, it's not really an excuse, seeing as how other people found courage to resist it. If I need to be a voice for moving forward, for unity, you can count me in."

Harry beamed in pride, and even Weasley and Hermione appeared affected.

He returned to his seat beside Harry, who reached over to give Julian a pat. "Alright, Hermione. What information do you need from me, then? The ritual from start to finish?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes." She'd been smiling softly at the domestic scene presented by Harry, Draco, and Julian together.

"They forced me to drink several potions, which made me feel as if I were cold, then burning, then drowning. Between them, they cast over me with what appeared to be unfinished wands." She made a noise of comprehension, but Draco continued. "The final potion... it hurt like nothing I've ever experienced, but deep inside, not like _Crucio._ After that one, a witch used her own wand to pull the magic from me into a glass ball. I believe they were shocking my body and soul into losing its grip on my magic, but I'm unsure."

"Did your magic feel as if it were reaching out?" Draco nodded, and Hermione jotted down a few more notes. "I believe the unworked wands cause it to search out, like when we first pick a wand at Ollivanders. It's a grounding moment of a young witch or wizard's magic. They tried to force that moment, then left the ends loose, so to speak."

"And then my magic was vulnerable enough they could steal it," he finished for her. "Merlin, that's so clever I'm almost impressed."

Hermione obviously _was_ a bit impressed, although she was also disgusted. "It doesn't even sound that difficult. Obviously the potions must be the key, or else someone would have discovered this before."

"Rookwood would have had access to all the Death Eater families' libraries, full of dark spells and potions," Draco mused. "He also was quite clever himself."

"And the Unspeakables resented having him back in the Department, so I'm sure they see using his ritual against his former cohort as some sort of sick justice." She set down her quill. "It's clear what we have to do first. We must let _them_ know that _we_ know, and that failing to return the magic will force us to reveal their plot publicly. Frightened or not, I cannot imagine the average citizen will approve of their Ministry using Dark magic in a bid to increase its power."

"I was bound by a gag order not to reveal this," Draco cautioned. "They'll counter by threatening to send me to Azkaban."

"And Harry will counter-threaten them with his support of you."

"Why are we threatening them in the first place?" Harry asked. "We're going to reveal the ritual no matter what, right? To bring them down?"

"Of course." She sat back smugly. "But they don't need to know that."

"You're ruthless," Weasley said with admiration in his voice. "You're going to be the Minister someday."

Draco didn't doubt it.

~~~

Julian began to fuss, so Draco left to put him down for his afternoon nap. The Trio stayed behind in the parlour to iron out some details. They were still a unit after all these years; even with time and emotional distance between them they easily came back together. It occurred to Draco that this was what he'd been jealous of all his life, that bond between the three of them. It felt good to belong in his own way.

After Julian fell asleep, Draco paced restlessly waiting for Harry. _What if they use my magic while the plan comes together? What if they call our bluff and send me to prison? Oh Circe, what if they destroy it just to spite us?_

He'd run through a thousand terrible scenarios by the time Harry appeared in the doorway. "Hey," he whispered, trying not to wake Julian. "Let's go outside."

The October air was crisp, and wind shook the apple trees as Draco and Harry sat on a bench beneath them. The late sunlight reflected off the stained glass windows of the chapel; no Malfoy had prayed in centuries, but Draco found himself wondering if it would do any good.

Harry broke the silence first. "Are you scared?"

"Yes." Draco didn't see any point in lying. "So much could go wrong. I never hoped to get my magic back, and now that it's a possibility, failure seems terrifying."

"That's only one part of it. The rest could be dangerous as well."

Draco recalled the determined faces of Hermione and - _oh, fuck it_ \- of _Ron_ and suddenly felt terribly selfish. They were trying to save the world, _again,_ and Draco was only thinking of himself. He reached over for Harry's hand, quite addicted to the feeling now that he experienced it so often.

"I'll help you even it it doesn't work, you know. Even if my magic is lost entirely. If the Unspeakables are allowed to continue, with the blessing of the Wizengamot, before long power will be consolidated in the hands of the few. And no matter their intentions, that much power corrupts."

Harry looked unbearably pleased. "I need you with me, Draco. Not just because of _us,_ but because you've seen it from the other side."

"You do know that _us_ could make this incredibly difficult, right?" Draco cautioned. He might have been hopeful, but he wasn't foolish. "The Golden Boy and a Death Eater will be hard for many people to deal with."

"It's no one's business," Harry insisted. "I'm not going hide what you mean to me, or lie, but our personal feelings for each other aren't the point here."

 _Oh Harry, so naive._ "People like that reporter will make it a point. And you have to admit, reversing what's been done to me isn't _really_ necessary to exposing the Department. A more cynical person could even claim you're only doing this for your lover."

Harry burst out laughing. "My lover?! What's wrong with... I dunno. Boyfriend."

Draco's cheeks turned pink. "Is that what you call me to your friends?"

"I just call you Draco." He smiled and ducked his head. "They know how I feel."

"I'm honestly shocked Ron hasn't threatened my life." _Ron?_ Harry mouthed. "Oh, shush. Haven't they cautioned you against this? Accused me of using you?"

Harry shrugged. "Hermione didn't seem surprised. Ron and I actually had a terrible row when he confronted me, but I think he was just worried. I'm not where he expected I'd be after the war. But he's come around. We've learned to trust each other after everything we've been through. All three of us have." Harry looked away, up through the leaves above them. "I don't know where I'd be without them."

"I wondered if they were only helping me because you wanted them to, but they really are that righteous, aren't they?"

"They aren't perfect, but yeah." Harry fixed him with a very serious gaze. "I wasn't hiding you from them. I only wanted something to be just... mine, for a while at least. But it's important to me that you get to know them." Draco nodded mutely. It was already clear there was more to Ron and Hermione than he'd ever guessed. "And it's important they know how much I care about you," Harry continued, bringing his other hand up to cup Draco's cheek.

Besotted was a good look on Harry. Those three words rose to the tip of Draco's tongue, but he didn't want to say them quite yet. _What if Harry thinks I'm only saying it now because I want help returning my magic? No, it's best to wait until this all plays out. Then he'll know I have no ulterior motives._

_But perhaps I can show him how I feel._

Draco leaned into Harry's grasp and allowed his face to be tipped up into a kiss. Harry's lips were chapped, as if he'd been chewing them with worry. Draco deepened the kiss, and soon Harry was gasping into his mouth, eager for more. Before he could begin pulling at Draco's clothes as he usually did when things grew heated, Draco withdrew and sank to his knees.

Rippling pools of light moved over the patio as the sunset glanced across the chapel wall. Draco knelt before Harry as a supplicant would, running his hands over strong thighs, spreading them apart. Harry's breath caught. "What are you doing?"

_Worshipping at your feet._

"Saying thank you."

Harry's brow furrowed. "You don't have to thank me, Draco. You don't owe me... this."

"Shh." Draco opened the fly of Harry's trousers. "It's a general thank you. For being you, for being with me." He kissed the rosy tip of the cock that was revealed to him. "I want to please you." He licked the bead of precome that welled up, and grinned at the shudder that passed over Harry, whose hand rose unthinkingly to rest on Draco's head.

"Ohhh... fine... but it's your turn next."

Draco was still astonished at at how much he had come to enjoy this act. Rather than feeling degraded, as childish insults would imply, the giving partner wielded a great deal of power. It was immensely satisfying to make Harry fall apart, to wreck him with every swipe of a tongue and stroke of a hand. When Draco finally began to suck, gradually going deeper, Harry threw his head back and moaned in delight. Draco glanced up around his mouthful and was struck by how gorgeous Harry looked in the glow from the rose window, his face suffused with pleasure. It had Draco's own cock fully hard and expectant. He sped up his strokes at the base, adding a twist, meeting his fingers with his lips as he opened his throat.

Harry's thighs began to shake, and his fingers tightened in Draco's hair. "I'm so close," he panted. "Fuck, Draco, don't stop."

He didn't, and all too soon Harry was filling his mouth with pulses of come. He lapped up all the stray drops as Harry went limp above him, then sank back on his knees before his lover like a penitent - no, like a devotee.

The stars were beginning to glitter when Harry finally caught his breath. "Come here," he demanded, pulling Draco back up on the bench beside him. "God, your fucking mouth." He kissed Draco roughly, surely tasting his own come. "I told you it was your turn next. What do you want?"

"Mmm... ohh, fuck Harry, just touch me." Harry moved to suck bruises onto Draco's neck. "Inside though, it's getting cold."

"How long does that giant bathtub of yours take to fill?"

"No time at all," Draco laughed. "It's magic."

~~~

The next part of Hermione's plan involved Harry putting strategic words in the ears of several key players at the Ministry, laying the groundwork for their eventual exposure of the Department of Mysteries. She also wanted to create a bit of public drama, then strike while people were talking amongst themselves,

Harry had acquiesced to one appearance in the paper, not really an interview as much as a man-on-the-street sort of statement, given to the same reporter who'd questioned Draco's place in his life. The man had cornered Harry on his way out of Quality Quidditch Supplies, asking if he'd decided on Quidditch over the Aurors. Harry had simply answered that the Aurors were still a possibility, but the Ministry would have to complete the reforms that were held up by the Wizengamot. "I'd like to move forward," Harry had said, "but not if the Ministry won't move with me. One has to wonder if they _want_ things to remain the same as they were during the unfortunate days of the war."

 _One has to wonder._ Draco snorted. Harry would never talk quite so formally if he was _really_ caught unawares by a reporter, but he'd made sure he was seen going in the shop, and prepared a statement. It was a good one, all things considered; people felt that the Ministry had let them down when Voldemort had taken it over so easily, and they were ready to distrust it again.

Harry's face blinked up at Draco from the front page of the _Prophet_ under the headline _Boy Who Lived to Ministry: Stop Stalling!_ He'd looked embarrassed when he spelled the paper open for Draco that morning, but it was actually a fairly good photograph.

Maybe he would save it.

There was very little for Draco to do in these last few weeks except worry and wait. He grew bored without Harry, although the sex after they were separated for days at a time was always thrilling. Mostly he felt ineffectual, and doubts began to creep in, along with the desire to protect Harry from the eventual fallout their relationship would bring once it was public.

_What will I do, even with magic? I'm not welcome anywhere else but here. I trust Harry, but do I even deserve this happiness? Isn't it worse to risk it, now that I know what love feels like?_

Meanwhile, he spent more and more time with Julian. Today they were walking up and down different hallways so Julian could practice running around. Draco had chosen the ones with carpets or rugs, allowing his brother to stumble without injury. This included the hall with Brutus Malfoy's portrait, but as usual, it was Octavia who was in residence.

"Hello Draco, Julian. How are you today?"

"Tayvee!" Julian smiled and waved, then toddled further down the hall. Draco watched him wistfully.

"They grow so fast, don't they?" Octavia said in commiseration. Draco nodded, still not looking towards her. "That's not all that's bothering you, is it dear?"

"I never told you what happened to me, did I? Why Harry came to help me raise Julian."

"Not in so many words."

"I'm sure you know my parents are dead." Even after all this time, speaking the words aloud was like a cold knife being slipped in his ribs.

"I assumed. It had been some time since I came this way, though, so I never made the acquaintance of either of them. You mother was a Black, yes?"

"Yes. The last one, in the old traditions. Harry actually inherited part of the Black fortune, through his godfather, but he and my mother's sister were both disowned. She's still alive, though."

"So many of the old families are gone now." Octavia tilted her head, studying Draco's response. "Does that bother you?"

"It does," he admitted. "But the lengths we have gone to in order to perpetuate our lines... those bother me, too. I believe in our traditions, I do, but there's been so much pain and death."

"And a war your Harry helped end," she pointed out. He didn't correct her use of _your._ "Even I heard about that. Was the Manor his prize? Is that why he came here?" Even as a portrait, the idea of the Manor belonging to another family seemed to perturb her.

"No, the Manor belongs to Julian. Harry came here because the Ministry stripped me of my magic and denied me custody. I'm a Squib," Draco added bluntly. This too still caused him anguish to reveal. "He's good enough that he allowed me to have a relationship with Julian."

Octavia's eyes grew sad. "Dear nephew, I'm so sorry."

"I thought I'd come to terms with it. I was living quietly. Then Harry showed up and threw everything into chaos." He leaned against the opposite wall, keeping one eye on Julian as he conversed with his many times great-aunt. "He always did have a profound effect on my life. I shouldn't be surprised that it's come to this, yet I am. And now he tells me that my magic may be salvageable. I just wonder... Do I even deserve it?"

"You're a wizard. Of course you do."

 _Spoken like a true Malfoy._ "I'm a criminal. I tried to murder someone."

"There are numerous portraits upstairs who would chide you for not succeeding."

Draco barked out a laugh. "My father's among them, probably." He watched Julian pull at a cabinet, then sit down heavily in frustration when it failed to open; Holkey's child proofing spells were top-notch. "Julian isn't scared of you anymore. Perhaps he should meet their painting."

"I don't think so," Octavia answered. "He won't understand who they are. Children have no concept of death at that age."

"I just don't want my mother to be forgotten. But it isn't really her, anyways. You aren't really you, after all."

"No." She smiled kindly. "Something about this house, though. I think we're all a bit more lively here."

Draco knew she wasn't only referring to the portraits. "I'm scared of leaving. It's safe here, it's _home._ But if Harry has his way, everyone will eventually know that we're together. He's trying to make the world a different place. And I'm glad of that, truly. Julian deserves to grow up in a society that is trying to heal and not tear itself apart painfully. I just..." He let his head thunk back against the wall. "I just don't know if there is a place for me there anymore."

"It seems Harry has decided your place is by his side."

"Wait, does he talk to you?" Draco found himself hoping that was true, that Harry felt comfortable enough in the Manor to converse with the painted occupants.

She smirked and shook her head no. "But it's obvious you're both in love. You seem to favour the rooms on this floor."

"I don't understand."

"You two are rather loud,"

Draco turned beet red. "You're the worst. A perverted medieval-"

"Baroque!"

"-meddling aunt. Just what I always wanted."

"You're a Malfoy, darling, living in Malfoy Manor. You'll never be alone. The weight of your ancestors will bear upon you eternally." She added a wink, and Draco knew she wasn't being terribly serious. Still...

"I was very, very lonely before. I never want to feel that way again." _Not only at the market, or on the farm, but during the war, and even prior to that. My friends weren't real friends and my life wasn't mine._

"It doesn't look like you'll have to. Remember what I always tell you-"

"I know, I know. Seize my happiness. Were you a Hufflepuff?"

"I went to Beauxbatons."

"That explains a lot."

~~~

The leaves turned to gold, fell from the trees, and it was time.

They were to approach the Department of Mysteries three days before Halloween, a date etched in the minds of the Wizarding World as the first fall of Voldemort. Hermione would never say such a thing to Harry, but Draco suspected she'd chosen the timing in a deliberate bid to maximise the sympathy and gratitude people felt for him.

_How very Slytherin of her._

"I've done as much reconnaissance as I can," Hermione told them when they were gathered. "Harry, Draco and I will confront the Unspeakables in the Magic room, while Ron hides under the cloak for backup."

"Isn't everything down there a 'magic' room?" Weasley piped up in a puzzled voice.

"In a way. But Time, Death, and Love aren't purely magic, as they affect Muggles as well. The _Ritual_ room might be a better way to describe it, especially in light of what we plan to do."

"And we can't just sneak in and steal it?"

"No. We need their cooperation for this. What if it requires a ritual we don't know? We could end up destroying it in the process. No, we need to get the Unspeakables to hand it over."

Harry nodded eagerly. "Let's go over it one more time."

Draco tuned them out. It wasn't that he didn't care; he'd heard the plan three times, and it was rather simple. The only reason they had waited at all was to build up support for the aftermath. No, he was trying to memorise every detail of the crowded parlour: Hermione's books strewn about, Harry's trainers by the fireplace, his own winter cloak thrown haphazardly over the chaise. The Manor looked more lived in now that it ever had, with only two Malfoys in residence, and one of them a Potter on paper at that.

Draco loved it. And he didn't want to lose it.

Even with Harry Potter at his side, there was a chance the not-Aurors would appear and haul Draco before the Wizengamot again, intent on throwing him into Azkaban for a parole violation. Harry had assured him that he would _never_ let that happen, eyes blazing protectively. Hermione had more prudently advised him that she was fairly sure such a gag order was illegal.

"Is there a spare wand we can give Ron to hold for Harry?" Hermione asked suddenly. "Harry's will be held at... well, there isn't a 'reception' in the Department, but visitors can't have them." Both Harry and Ron were silent, but Draco spoke up.

"He can use mine."

"I thought you didn't have one?"

"I gave his back, Ron." Harry leaned over and placed a hand on Draco's knee. "Are you sure?"

Draco shrugged. "It's not as if I can use it." _Yet._

"Blimey." Ron's eyes were wide. "I thought that'd go in a museum or something."

"I'll fetch it." Draco rose and made his way up the stairs to his and Harry's room where he kept the wand. As he slid his hands over the cool marble of the banister, he remembered his last day at the Manor before his sentencing, when he hid his grandfather's wand and cast _Imperio_ on Holkey. Silently he vowed to choose a kinder spell for his first foray back into magic in over two years.

Perhaps _Lumos._

The hawthorn wand was exactly where he'd left it, hidden in the back of a drawer so the sight of it didn't depress him. Now it felt right in his grip.

Draco was ready.

~~~

The circular room in the Department entrance was no less fascinating the second time around. Harry fidgeted by his side, and Draco knew he was likely recalling his own previous trip here, one no less tragic than Draco's. Hermione tapped her wand on a door and led them through, carefully leaving enough time for the invisible Ron to make it in behind them.

As she'd told them, there was no reception, only a room of floating file cabinets. "Sign in, Harry, and place your wand in one of those." He plucked a quill from the air and did as he was told. "You'll sign as well, Draco. The logbook can tell you're a..."

"You can say Squib. Hopefully it's nearly over." _Also, I've called you far worse, and you've seen fit to forgive me._ He added his own name under Harry's with a flourish, his first signature since leaving Julian at St. Mungo's.

This time he included the _Malfoy._

Another door appeared from thin air, and Hermione took point again. This was the long dark hallway Draco remembered. A shuffling noise came from their right, and a short witch opened a door slowly, golden light spilling out behind her. "Miss Granger!" She said in surprise. "I wasn't aware you had training today."

"I'm taking Harry to speak with someone," she said evasively. The witch's eyes widened, and she peered around the door to see Harry, her jaw dropping lower when she spotted Draco as well.

"This is highly irregular, Miss Granger."

"Irregular, indeed. Harry is down from the Aurors office to question Malfoy about some _irregularities_ in his case." Her speech was well-rehearsed, and counted on whoever this witch was knowing about Draco's sentence, assuming Harry was investigating issues with it, and being curious as to what had possibly gone wrong. Sure enough, she closed the door behind her, dropping the hallway into darkness but for the _Lumos_ of Hermione's wand once more.

"You'll need to follow me, then. Access to that room is restricted to apprentices."

They followed single-file, the witch casting glances over her shoulder at Draco every so often. He thought the path was different from last time, but for all he knew the rooms rearranged themselves continuously.

Eventually they emerged into the chamber with the stone dais. It was otherwise empty. Draco's steps faltered as he recalled the pain and terror he'd faced last time; Harry's hand brushed his lightly, but they could not comfort one another yet.

"I think I know who you need to speak with," the witch said to Hermione. "Will you... will you put in a good word? I've applied to this division several times." Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. _Politics._

Hermione nodded. "Thank you." Draco noticed that she did not use the woman's name. If she became a full Unspeakable, would Hermione become anonymous as well? _Impossible. They'd have to Obliviate the entire country._

The nameless witch left, and they were alone in the chamber. Draco strained to hear the faintest rustle from the invisibility cloak - he really needed to get the story behind that thing from Harry - but Auror training had apparently paid off, and Ron was silent as a mouse.

A full two minutes passed, and Draco knew Harry was growing restless. Soon he would become too impatient to wait, and-

The air before them rippled, and two people materialised as if from thin air. There was no crack of Apparition. Draco recognised one of them as the wizard who had forced the potion down his throat; the other was a tall, statuesque woman in dark blue robes. The wizard held his wand loosely but readied, while the woman stood before them with her hands clasped.

"Miss Granger. You are not apprenticed to this division." Her voice was cold and firm.

Hermione took a deep breath. "I've brought Harry to speak with you. About Draco Malfoy. And other things."

"The Aurors are not concerned with sentences of those convicted directly by the Wizengamot's tribunals."

"Harry isn't an Auror."

The woman's eyes narrowed. "I'm not sure how we can help you."

"I am." Harry joined the conversation. "We've come for Draco's magic." The wizard gripped his wand tighter, but Harry stayed standing at Draco's side.

"I'm afraid that's impossible." The witch spread her hands in a helpless gesture. Draco noticed she didn't deny taking his magic in the first place. He'd been instructed by Hermione to remain silent unless directly questioned. _Please ask, please ask..._

"Has it been used?" Hermione questioned the Unspeakables.

"Even if it has not, it cannot be returned to him."

"Bullshit." Harry grit his teeth. "You've been using stolen magic. There has to be some way a person can take it inside them."

"You are evidently ignorant of basic magical theory. No matter." She fixed her gaze on Draco. "You've violated the agreement we drew up. I'm afraid you'll have to be taken into custody." Harry moved to stand protectively in front of Draco.

"I actually figured this mostly out by myself," Hermione said. Her voice betrayed no nervousness. "I would like for the magic you stole to be returned, of course. It's only the right thing to do. But more important is bringing a stop to this destructive search for power."

"We only seek to prevent our Department from being taken again. To prevent the Ministry itself from ever being overthrown."

"I don't think the public will see it that way. I think the public will see this as the Department trying to consolidate power in the hands of the few. Don't you, Harry?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, Hermione. The fact they kept it a secret doesn't look good, either."

For the first time since she appeared, the tall witch faltered. "If you reveal our secrets, we will surely have your friend there arrested."

"If you have my boyfriend arrested, I'll tell your secrets no matter what." Draco closed his eyes. _Dammit, Harry. That wasn't part of the speech._ Still, he couldn't help but feel proud that Harry was so eager to claim him.

The other Unspeakable joined the conversation for the first time. "Went and found yourself someone new to follow?"

"Shut up," Harry threw out casually. The wizard was taken aback, unsure of how to respond to being addressed in such a manner by the Saviour.

The witch brought her hands together once more. "It would appear we are at an impasse."

Hermione bit her lip, appearing unsure. Draco knew it was an act; still, he didn't like to see the normally confident woman cowed before anyone. "If we keep it a secret, will you give us Draco's magic, at least?"

This was the most important moment of the whole plan, for Draco at least. Hermione had watched the Unspeakables from under the cloak as they floated glass balls of magic about, but she did not know their filing system and had no idea how to tell which was was Draco's, if any.

The witch appeared triumphant. "Very well." She nodded to the wizard, who made a complicated motion with his wand. A glass ball sailed out from a niche in the wall to land in her hand.

Draco gasped, he couldn't help himself.

"How do we know that's Draco's?" Hermione asked. Her own wand was still in her hand, and Draco saw the wizard keeping a keen eye on it.

"You don't," the witch sniffed.

"Tell us how to return it, then."

"Weren't you listening? You can't."

"Explain," Draco demanded. They _had_ to get the ritual details out of her before playing the rest of their hand.

"Something needs to be actively magical about you to draw it in. Otherwise we could give magic to Muggles. If you were a woman, I'd advise getting pregnant by a wizard, the baby's magic might work as a conduit." The witch sneered at Harry. "He won't do you much good there, I'm afraid."

"But I _am_ still magical," he protested. "I can use enchanted objects, I can take potions."

"You aren't creating magic, though. It's that creative energy that reaches out to a wand, or to the glass balls we store the magic inside."

All of Draco's hopes dissolved as he gazed at the little glowing ball in despair. "It's still mine," he said hoarsely. "I still want it."

The witch shrugged. "It's a glorified paperweight. But if that's how you lot will keep your mouths shut, fine."

" _Accio!_ " Hermione pointed her wand and summoned the ball before the witch could change her mind. In the same instant, the wizard raised his own wand while she was occupied and and wordlessly cast a spell that froze Hermione in place. The ball flew towards them and Harry, ever the Seeker, snatched it out of the air. He held the glowing ball reverently, his eyes wide with wonder, before turning back toward the Unspeakables.

"Let Hermione go. I swear, I _will_ tell everyone what you've been up to down here."

"You've nowhere to go," the witch said smugly. "And you won't be saying a thing after I Obliviate you all." She smoothly drew her wand from one voluminous sleeve.

" _Expelliarmus!_ " The witch's wand flew from her hand as Ron flung the cloak aside. He was immediately disarmed by the wizard in turn, his own wand skidding across the floor, but grinned madly as he held Draco's wand aloft in his other hand and did the same spell yet again. The wizard's wand went spinning away, and the hawthorn wand was the only one wielded. Ron fixed his stance and kept both the Unspeakables at bay while Harry collected all the wands.

" _Finite Incantatum._ " Hermione shook off whatever spell had been used to hold her in place. Now the Unspeakables had _three_ wands pointed at them. Harry handed both the hawthorn wand and the glass ball over to Draco.

"Nothing?" he asked softly. Draco shook his head mutely. He could feel neither the wand nor his magic.

"You are foolish children," the witch spat. "You don't understand what we are trying to do here."

"No, I understand." Harry's voice was like steel. "You're trying to become invincible. That kind of thing doesn't sit well after Voldemort, you know. In fact, I think attempts at gaining that much power might even been seen as a threat."

The witch swallowed nervously. "You could destabilise the Ministry if you go around telling tales."

"Oh, I'm counting on it." Draco found himself mesmerised by Harry's strength as he stated his case, even as his own plight seemed hopeless. "The Ministry has it coming. We've waited long enough for change. But that's the thing about power - people never want to give it up."

"You're just a _child,_ " the wizard spoke up, repeating the witch's sentiments.

Ron snorted. "We haven't been children for a long time. And it's not just us. Robards is done with your shit, as are all the Aurors, and even Kingsley."

Hermione stood proud as well. "I've spoke to Griselda Marchbanks and she's ready to bring a vote of no-confidence against both the judges who've been swinging things your way."

The Unspeakables still didn't seem as worried as they should; they looked to Harry expectantly.

"And I've got Minerva McGonagall to agree to step down as Headmistress of Hogwarts and take the position of Chief Mugwump." That _did_ bring a reaction. McGonagall was nearly as popular as Harry; her age was the only thing keeping her from running as Minister, but the Mugwump had less strenuous duties and the position was often held by witches or wizards older than she.

"McGonagall would never leave that school." Draco heard a tremor in the witches voice.

"She would if I asked," Harry insisted.

"And what about you?" the witch asked Draco bitterly. "Whose ear have you been whispering in?"

"Oh, I've decided not to get involved in politics," Draco answered blithely. "I'm just here for this. Are you quite sure there's nothing else you can tell me about it?"

"Without your own inherent magic active, that ball is useless to you."

"Then you are useless to me." Harry slipped both their wands into his pocket. "I'll leave these in a file cabinet for you."

"We can still send him to prison!" The witch gestured helplessly at Draco.

Hermione played her trump card. "You'll do no such thing. We have the Pensieve memories of this... conversation. I'm sure the Wizengamot would be thrilled to know you attempted to Obliviate Harry Potter." The Unspeakables both paled. "Be satisfied with losing your jobs. If Draco goes to prison, you go to prison. Oh, and also," she added almost carelessly. "Hand over all your information on the ritual or I snap your wands."

~~~

Draco felt as if he were holding his breath on the entire journey out of the Department of Mysteries. True to his word, Harry left the wands when he retrieved his own. Draco had confirmed Rookwood's handwriting on the tome Hermione obtained with the ritual instructions, and all bottles of the offending potions were poured out save one of each. Not until the four of them were stepping through the Floo back at Malfoy Manor did they allow themselves a sigh of relief.

"You were all brilliant," Harry said admiringly.

Draco pulled the glass ball from his pocket and turned it over in his hands. "Do you think they were lying?"

"No," Hermione said sadly. "But..." she perked up. "That doesn't mean they're right. There might be something they've overlooked. I'll need to spend some time with the problem, now that I have the information."

"Only you could be excited about more research," Ron laughed. His levity was not shared by Harry.

"We'll figure it out, love." He put one arm around Draco, who was still staring at the ball as if it would give up it's secrets.

"They 'loosened' my magic and drew it off when it was seeking to connect. Perhaps we have to make the magic want to connect to me again. Make what little magic that's left in me... receptive."

"We need to activate you, so to speak." Hermione looked pensive. "Your inherent magic, that in your blood, the part of you that can't be changed - you feel that most here in the Manor, right?"

"I can feel the wards, yes. As can Julian. You know this."

Her eyes lit up. "Julian! That's it!"

"Wait." Draco held up a hand. "We aren't involving Julian in any sort of ritual. I'd rather be a _Muggle_ than put him at risk."

"Not Julian himself," Hermione assured. "But you are connected to your family through the Manor, to every Malfoy that ever lived. Your magic may be attracted to that connection. If we can get you in the centre of the wards, tapped into the house, it might flow back into you like water down a drain."

"What's to stop it from simply dissipating into the house?"

"One of us will have to direct it. Shield spells would be the best option, but only a very strong one would do. Oh! But..." She trailed off unhappily. "A wand would act as a lightning rod, as an active spell is more powerful than passive wards. Whoever was casting might end up absorbing your magic."

"And then overloading," Draco finished for her. "Damn."

Harry's eyes lit up. "What about wandless magic? I can cast _Protego_ without one."

"It may still be too powerful. But... wandless magic is more diffuse." Hermione's eyes glazed over as she drifted into her own world of magical theory. "It's almost like a gravity well. Draco needs to be the heaviest object, so to speak."

"Too many metaphors," Ron said. "More importantly, how long do we wait before going to the _Prophet_ about the Department of Mysteries?"

"Right." She came back to herself. "I know we wanted to get Draco's magic back first, in case that became an issue of contention later on, but the longer we wait the more time they have to cover their tracks or call in their own favours."

"We shouldn't wait," Draco stated firmly.

"But Draco-"

"Harry, this is bigger than me. Do you really want to raise Julian in a world where shadow judges can arbitrarily punish people with no accountability? Where the Ministry has squads to investigate Dark magic with no warrant? Where the means justify the ends?" Returning to the chamber where his magic had been so brutally forced from him had brought it all crashing back. "I'm not claiming to be innocent. But I had no appeal. And I had no recourse when they _stole_ him from me. Merlin, I almost didn't get to say goodbye!"

"You're welcome, by the way." Hermione was wearing a secretive smile.

"I'm what?" Draco wracked his brain, going over the details of that painful final day at St. Mungo's. Suddenly it hit him. "You! That was your Patronus!"

"What?" Harry and Ron asked in unison. Hermione simply shrugged.

"The Unspeakables were summoned when your mother went into labour. I didn't know it then, but it's obviously because she was supposed to be arrested directly after and sent to face the same ritual you did. I happened to be in a training session, and they were acting very strange, and I had a feeling they weren't going to tell you before you could say goodbye." Her face softened. "I certainly didn't know she was dying."

"She was gone when I got there." Harry rubbed his back supportively. "I did get to see Julian, so thank you. But why? It hadn't even been a year since... since you'd seen me last, in rather horrible circumstances. We weren't friends."

"Are you saying we're friends now?" Damn, he'd walked right into that one. Ron also looked at him expectantly.

"Fine." Draco sighed exaggeratedly. "We're friends."

"Then you know me well enough to answer your own question," she said proudly.

_Because it was the right thing to do._

And Draco knew that moving forward quickly while momentum was on their side was also the right thing to do, rather than asking Harry to delay for his sake alone. "Let's try it," he said abruptly. "Right now. Tap into the wards, see if it works. If it doesn't, then fuck it, you can hold me up as some sort of pathetic example for Squib rights." He turned on his heel and marched out of the parlour and into the Great Hall.

The Trio were hot on his heels. "Draco, wait!" Harry grabbed him by the sleeve. "What if it hurts you?"

"I can't live without knowing, and I can't risk losing it again before I can try."

Harry nodded sharply and stepped back. "Ok. But you know I love you no matter what, right?"

"I..." It felt wrong to say it for the first time on the precipice of something so monumental. _I want the focus to be on us when I tell him._ "I know." If Harry was disappointed, he didn't show it. Draco stroked the glass ball containing the magic by which he once defined himself, and handed it over.

"Hold this. I trust you with it." _I trust you with my heart, with my life._

Harry held the ball closely, and Draco took his place on the star-shaped mosaic in the middle of the Great Hall. He could immediately feel the wards pulsing around him. "Anything?" He asked Harry.

"No change." Draco pondered for a moment. "Maybe I need something else connected to me and the house." His final morning came to mind again, and he lit up. "Holkey!"

The elf appeared next to him. "Do you remember where I hid the wand in the library?" She gave him a hard stare. "Master Draco instructed Holkey to never speak of that."

"Yes. I know. And I'm sorry for how... forceful I was with you." _You have to mean an Unforgivable for it to work, and I didn't mean it. I hope you know that._ "Will you please retrieve it?"

She disappeared with a _crack,_ and only a few moments later returned. "This is my grandfather Abraxas' wand," Draco explained to the others. "My father hid it from the Aurors." He knelt and touched the tip of the wand to the mosaic tiles. A sort of wave passed through the wards; no one else twitched, but Draco felt it. He drew his own wand as well, and placed the two beside each other.

He looked up at Harry expectantly. "No change," Harry said regretfully. "It's still just kind of swirling around in there."

"Maybe you have to break it," Ron volunteered.

"Crude, but effective." _Also a last ditch effort. There's no containing it again._ "Cast _Protego,_ Harry. Everyone else stand back."

"Shouldn't I back up, too?"

"No, you have to be within the shield when you break the glass." _But what will draw it towards me?_

_Of course._

"Holkey, before you leave I need a knife." She eyed him doubtfully, but with a snap of her fingers produced a paring knife from the kitchens. It would have to do.

With a steadying breath, Harry raised his hand and cast _Protego_ without drawing his holly wand. It was potent, and enveloped him and Draco in a bubble of protection. Not for the first time, Draco was glad his love was such a powerful wizard.

"Break it," he commanded.

Harry dropped the glass.

Immediately there was a bright flash of light, and a blue glow rose up from the shattered pieces of the ball. It swirled around the edges of the shield aimlessly and Draco knew what he had to do. He drew the knife across his palm and gripped both the wands in his bloodied fingers.

Instantly he felt the core of his grandfather's wand come to life. He tried a Summoning spell, but it fizzled out. His magic however turned as a flock of birds, and came rushing towards him. He held his breath, but it simply settled around him like a halo. He tried the same with the hawthorn wand, but nothing happened. It felt dead in his hands.

In frustration he slapped a bloody handprint onto the centre of the star mosaic. The entire floor lit up unexpectedly, and he heard Hermione stifle a scream. His magic settled further around him - was this it?

A sudden sharp pain hit him in the left arm, followed by a terrible burning. _The Mark!_

Oh Merlin, the residual magic in the Mark was reacting with his own! _I should have known! I don't entirely belong to myself. Any servant of Voldemort would never be allowed to conduct blood magic without his permission._ The snake writhed as if it were living, as if it were sinking its fangs into Draco's flesh. He cried out and clutched at his arm desperately. "No!"

Through his agony he heard a ghastly sound: hissing and spitting, like the Dark Lord was holding court in the Manor once more. Miraculously the pain began to fade. Looking up, Draco saw that Harry was whispering. _Parseltongue._ The Dark Mark settled back into his skin and the danger was past.

Still, his magic hovered as if it were unsure what to do. Draco concentrated very hard on his connection with the wards, with Abraxas Malfoy's wand. He could feel a prickling at his skin, but nothing settled in. He needed something more personal. He needed his own wand, the one his magic had connected with when he was eleven years old.

He could still remember the moment it happened. Ollivander had chided Narcissa for thinking she could pick out a wand for her child, and he'd been summoned from Madame Malkin's. _Oh, Harry. You were there too, weren't you? Always you._ The wand with hawthorn wood and unicorn hair had been the very first wand he touched. Ollivander had given him an almost pitying look, one he didn't understand fully at the time.

"Hawthorn senses inner conflict," the old man had said, "and unicorn hair is quite hard to turn to the Dark Arts." Years later when he'd ended up in the dungeons of the Manor, Ollivander had remembered. "Still fighting against yourself, I see." He hadn't spoken another word to Draco during his captivity.

Draco shook his wand. "Why aren't you working?"

"Oh, fuck." That was Harry's voice, normal again. Draco saw him reach into his back pocket.

"Harry, no!" Hermione cried out, but it was too late. He drew the holly wand and Draco's magic surged back in his direction.

"Harry!" Draco shouted in despair, not as worried about his magic as he was that Harry would come to harm. But Harry didn't cast. He threw his wand into the air and cast with his hands instead.

" _Concedo!_ "

The holly wand came flying towards Draco, and he, a Seeker too, caught it easily in his right hand. A sudden swell of power burst out from his own hawthorn wand, and light shone from within the fingers of his left hand like he'd trapped a million fireflies. The blue cloud of magic reversed course and hit him straight in the chest - Draco fell backwards - and Harry's shield rippled.

~~~

Draco couldn't open his eyes, and yet he could see a grey mist.

"Hello?" he called out. His mouth didn't move.

_Hello child._

"Who's there?"

_We are the Manor._

"Impossible. The Manor isn't a living thing."

_The blood that gave life to your ancestors and then flowed through the ages into your veins is also a part of me._

"Is that why I can still feel the wards so well, even without magic?"

_Without magic? Are you?_

"It worked?!" Draco tried to sit up but he didn't have a body. "Where's Harry?"

_Holding his spell so your magic does not escape. We are helping him._

"Helping him?" As soon as the words were spoken, Draco realised he could feel Harry's magic as well, an undercurrent beneath the rest.

_He calmed the abomination on your flesh._

Draco felt immensely guilty for the Mark, even if he was talking to a house. "It fought against me."

_It was no match for us in the end. The strength of our power, of your will, of his love._

"Will I be alright?"

_Momentarily. It must... settle. It is unnatural for magic to be separated as such._

"You're telling me." The lack of feeling in his limbs - the lack of limbs at all - was starting to unnerve Draco. "How is this happening?"

_C'est avec joie et chagrin que j'établis cette Maison._

"'It is with joy and sorrow I establish this House.' The words on Armand Malfoy's grave. I don't understand."

_To become the House of Malfoy was joyful and yet sorrowful._

"You just said."

_We are not what we were. We are the wards, we are the blood, we are the house. We are the sum of our parts._

It dawned on Draco as if the knowledge had crawled into his brain. "Oh, Merlin." It was both horrifying and fascinating at once. "But how-"

_He calls to you._

~~~

"Draco! Draco, can you hear me?"

The molded plaster of the ceiling swam in Draco's vision. Harry's anxious face appeared above a moment later.

"Ugh, my head." Draco sat up slowly. "What happened?" Three voices sounded at once.

"Did it work?" That was Ron.

"I can't believe you did that, Harry!" Hermione, then.

"Are you alright?" Harry's voice held the most concern, and Draco answered him first.

"I'm fine. It just felt like a lot of pressure, like diving underwater." He flexed all this limbs - everything seemed to be in order. "What the fuck was that spell?"

"Conceding spell. Like a reverse disarming." Draco raised his eyebrows, demanding further explanation. Harry ran a hand through his hair, which was sticking out as if he'd passed through static. "Well, er, I've had to deal with wands and masters a lot the past few years. I thought it might be good to know all the spells that dealt with that. When you couldn't make yours work, I suddenly realised... I'd never actually given it back."

"You did, though." Draco was puzzled. "You handed it right over to me."

"Yeah, but you didn't use it. You couldn't. So it didn't know it was yours again."

"That's brilliant, Harry! Oh, and that moment of your wand belonging to you again was such a strong connection that your magic was attracted to you, Draco! And the blood-" Hermione broke off. "Well, blood magic makes me a bit uncomfortable, but I have to admit that was inspired."

"It wasn't only blood magic."

"Oh?" Hermione leaned in closer to Draco.

"Three is a powerful number."

"You, Harry, and the wards? Yes, that makes sense."

"No. Well, yes, but - blood, magic and soul." He couldn't believe it, but somehow knew it to be true. "When I passed out, I heard the Manor. It spoke to me."

"Are you _sure_ you're OK?" Ron asked disbelievingly.

"I was totally open, connected to my wand and my grandfather's wand, and my magic and the wards were running through me. And I felt your magic as well, Harry." He reached out to gently trace his cheek, audience be damned.

"I felt warm," Harry said, leaning into the touch. "Complete. Like you told me the wards felt."

"What did you mean by soul?" Hermione demanded, her curiosity getting the best of her.

"Armand Malfoy. I don't know how, or how I know, but he used his soul to establish the wards." Draco spied his wand lying a few feet away.

She gasped, a hand to her mouth. "Necromancy."

"Indeed." He leaned over and his hand closed around the hawthorn wood. Something sparkled within. It was there. Oh Merlin, it was _there._

"That's creepy, mate." Ron's nose wrinkled in distaste. "So he what, talked to you?"

"The Manor did. In a sense. It's not a sentient creature."

"Using a soul to power a ritual is very Dark magic. It would have been used up in the process." There was both disapproval and awe in Hermione's voice. "Laying wards down like that... I can see why they are still connected to his descendants."

"So the Manor _was_ the best place for returning your magic." Harry noticed how tightly Draco was gripping his wand. "Is it there?"

Draco stood shakily. "Let me try." He held the wand toward the double doors of the entrance.

From nowhere he recalled his mother's words, that she could feel his magic when she'd been pregnant with him. _It was sharp, she said._ It hadn't only been a violation of himself when they took took it, but an insult to his mother who'd nurtured him. He reached down within himself, looking for the sharpness. And he knew which spell to cast.

" _Lumos!"_

There it was - welling up from inside him and conducted through his wand like a fire burning within. Light blazed from his wand and the doors seemed to ignite with it. It was the most powerful _Lumos_ he'd ever cast, as if his magic had just been waiting to be used once more, gathering power as it sat dormant in the glass.

He was a wizard again.

Draco fell back to his knees, overcome with tears. "Oh, thank you, _thank you!_ " He was thanking Harry, thanking Ron and Hermione, thanking the Manor itself. Harry was laughing and crying and holding him, and everything felt _right_ again.

"More!" Draco exclaimed giddily, allowing Harry to pull him to his feet. He lit the fireplace, the chandelier, all the candles in the hall. " _Advenio!_ " That was a unique one; it caused the doors to fly open and the drapes to pull back from the windows. A long carpet appeared and rolled up the hall, ready for guests.

Ron and Hermione gave them a bit of space while Draco ran excitedly through the Manor, casting every spell he could think of. Harry ran behind him - "Slow down, you'll wear yourself out!" - until they came to Julian's room. He was awake from his afternoon nap. Draco promptly spelled the mobile to turn, charmed Firebreath to roar, and summoned the soft biscuits Julian favoured. "We're celebrating, little star," he said with glee, scooping Julian up and spinning him around.

"Dracooo!" he giggled. "Up!"

Draco lifted him up in his arms, and practically danced over to Harry, who was watching them adoringly. "We were very brave today, Julian, Harry and I together. You have fantastically talented brothers."

Harry gave a start. "What? I'm not-"

"Hush. You're family." Draco nuzzled him affectionately, nose to cheek, while Julian wiggled happily between them. "You've given me this, Harry. I'll never forget it." He hitched Julian up on his thigh and leaned in for a kiss, which Harry eagerly granted.

Julian noticed the biscuits that had come to rest on the side table. "Dracooo." He squirmed, reaching towards the treats. "Har-ree." He didn't get a response as the kiss continued, and made his displeasure known.

"Fuck!"

"Wha-"

"Julian, no!"

~~~

There was no charm to stop a young child from cursing, Draco found. There was also no spell to cheer Harry up on Halloween, so he simply brought up breakfast in bed and didn't make a big deal out it. They had some distractions, at least.

Hermione and Ron had gone to the _Prophet_ immediately; as much as they all disliked the staff, it was still the flagship paper of wizarding Britain. With their connections to the Ministry, it was only logical that the two of them break the story of the Unspeakables colluding with key members of the Wizengamot to consolidate power and ignore legal procedures. Harry would wait until reporters came clamouring for his opinion, and give the impression he was bowing to their demands for his attention, which would put them in a good mood.

Now they waited for the owls.

Harry finished off his bacon and cocked his head at Draco. "And you're _sure_ you're OK with people knowing?"

"Hermione went over this last night. Revealing that my magic was taken, but that you got it back, makes you look powerful enough to get the Unspeakables to do your bidding. The other Ministry officials will feel they have to fall in line."

"They did kind of did do my bidding. I mean, we blackmailed them, but yeah."

"Also..." Draco hadn't been totally comfortable talking about this in front of the others, friends or not. "As I told you , wWhen I was working in public, anytime someone found out I couldn't use a wand at all they became so much colder to me. I want those people to know I'm not rotten after all." He couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"Do opinions matter so much to you?"

He could still hear Jack, on his first day in Craik. _Is it that thing on your arm?_ "It's not just opinions. It's _vindication,_ Harry."

"You still love being right after all these years." Harry pushed his tray aside, omelet devoured, and Draco levitated it away. He was using his wand for even the smallest things, still overcome with glee at the ability.

"How are you today?" he asked Harry, turning the conversation away from himself.

"I'm... Well, it doesn't get any easier. But I've got other things to focus on right now, so that helps."

Draco ran his fingers through Harry's messy hair as he flopped back down on the pillow, "That feels nice" Harry purred. "Can we just stay here all day?"

"You know you won't be happy until you make the world right, Harry Potter."

"I'll be plenty happy if I can get a kiss, Draco Malfoy." It was a request easily fulfilled.

Draco couldn't believe there had been a time when he didn't even want to use his name. He'd always be a Malfoy, always belonged in the Manor. Harry had always wanted to belong, and Draco had taken it for granted.

Now they belonged together.

Harry sighed into his mouth. "I love your kisses." A more perfect opening had never been given.

"And I love you."

The wonder in Harry's eyes had been worth the wait. "I was too afraid to say it before," Draco admitted. "And then the time didn't seem right. But I do. I love you, Harry."

A smug little smile stole over Harry's face. "I know."

"You- what?"

"I knew as soon as you trusted me with your magic."

"Not when I told you I'd risk losing said magic to help you change the world?"

"Nah. That's just who you are now. But when you handed me that part of yourself, that was as good as screaming from the rooftops."

Draco huffed and slouched down on the bed. "I was trying to be romantic. You're ruining it." Harry laughed and sat up, throwing one leg over Draco's waist to straddle him.

"You looooove me."

"Shut up, you prat."

"Draco looooves Harry."

"Not for much longer."

Harry leaned down and stole another kiss. "How about forever?"

Draco found he couldn't breathe. "I..."

_Forever? The world is about the break down our door. At least half of Britain hates me, and he hates the spotlight. But... we can do this. We've come this far._

Gathering the courage that he'd found within himself, and the strength that Harry gave him, Draco pulled Harry down.

"Forever sounds good to me."

~~~

_I DIDN'T FIGHT FOR THIS!_

_Harry Potter excoriates Ministry of Magic for failing to prevent corruption, protect public - details inside!_

"Rita Skeeter bought a thesaurus, I see." Hermione had a long memory. Draco was grateful she hadn't chosen to hold her own grudges towards him.

"She probably creamed herself when Harry answered her owl. Ouch!" Hermione smacked Ron with the rolled up Prophet.

"That's disgusting. Harry, was she at least respectful?"

They had all gathered to eat a late breakfast in the conservatory, a day after Harry's round of interviews. Every publication had rushed through the night to have their own version out by the next morning. "Much as she could be, I guess. I don't think respectful is in her thesaurus."

"You mean dictionary." Draco was met with a bit of orange rind flicked at him. "Watch the hair!" It was freshly trimmed - by Hermione, no less, and hadn't that been something, to be sitting in his private bathroom in Malfoy Manor submitting to the scissors of a Muggleborn girl. Change really was afoot.

He ran his hand over the slightly buzzed sides again, enjoying the texture. He hadn't had a chance to style it properly; Harry's favourite form of stress relief was sucking him off in the shower, and they'd barely made it down in time for breakfast.

Harry grinned around a mouthful of croissant. "You're so vain."

"Says the man with his picture splashed across every paper. Hey! No more oranges!"

"No!" Julian chimed in gleefully, contradictorily tossing his own piece of fruit over the side of his chair.

"See? You're a bad influence, Harry."

"This place is getting worse than the Burrow," Ron said, pushing back from the table. He nearly tripped over Firebreath, whom Draco had charmed to scamper around following Julian."See?" He ruffled Julian's hair; Draco took note of how Hermione watched her boyfriend affectionately as he interacted with the toddler.

"Speaking of," Ron continued, "we'd better get over there before Mum starts to Floo. She'll want to talk about this article. Dad says his entire department at the Ministry was running around trying to finish work they'd been putting off for months."

"No one wants to be seen as part of the problem. Good." Hermione nodded decisively, rising to join him. "There's already a call for a ban on closed Wizengamot trials. The press would be allowed, which would prevent extra judicial sentences such as Draco's."

"They just don't want to think about the same thing happening to them." Draco was sceptical of any change in his public reception.

The _Prophet_ had remained fairly neutral on the topic of Draco's sentence, focusing on the flaws in the process rather than if Draco deserved it. Understandable; they were a fairly conservative paper and he _was_ a Death Eater on parole, after all. Skeeter's article had blushingly stepped around he and Harry's relationship, noting that Harry was "championing Draco's case after taking up residence in Malfoy Manor with his new friend some months ago."

On the other hand, _Witch Weekly_ had called him a "poor dear" and begged Harry for a photograph of the two of them together. Draco had refused until he did something with his hair.

"Have a bit of faith, Draco," Hermione assured him. "Everyone was hurting right after the war. But for most people, vendettas have faded."

Both Ron and Hermione kissed Julian goodbye, and hugged Harry. After a significant pause, Hermione also embraced Draco briefly, pulling away before Draco could react. Ron gave him a stiff handshake.

Holkey returned to clear the table - Draco avoided calling her when Hermione was around, if he could help it - and took Julian upstairs to be changed. He and Harry finished their morning tea in relative silence, which Draco took the time to enjoy. Who knew how much of it was in his future.

Harry read his mind. "Calm before the storm, huh?"

"All the responses to your interviews will be rolling in soon."

"People will be asking for you, as well."

"Truthfully, it's all a bit frightening. I was alone for a long time, then I only had you and Julian for company. I'm not sure how fast I want to take this." Draco imagined people spitting on him, hexing him, demanding to see the Dark Mark as Jack once had. And it wasn't only the actions of others that concerned him.

_What if I revert to my old ways once faced with a crowd? I have a little power back now, albeit through Harry. I never did good things with power. It's just so easy to hurt people._

"I'm kind of an arsehole," he said aloud. "I might fuck this up."

Harry regarded him with amusement over his grossly sweetened tea. "Sure. And I might call Skeeter a cow again and burn all my bridges at the Ministry."

Draco gazed outside at the bare trees, the grey sky stark with a chill that warned of snow. "I remember standing in this room, thinking about how my life was about to change completely, and how helpless I felt."

"When was this?"

"On my mother's last day in the Manor." He stood and walked over to the glass wall and placed his hand on it just as he had over two years ago. This time the glass was freezing cold. "I still miss her so much." _What would she think of me now?_

"I'm sorry, Draco." Of course Harry understood how he felt, being motherless as well. "It must be even harder, being here and surrounded by memories."

"It is. But there are happy ones, too, when I was younger at least." He traced a finger through the condensation of his breath on the cold glass. "Near the end she told me she was proud of me. That I was doing my best, that I had a good heart. I didn't get it, then. I was so ashamed of what had become of us. And when they took Julian, I felt like I was letting her down all over again."

He heard Harry come up behind him, then felt arms slip around his waist. "I hope she knows Julian and I are together. I wish she could see us. I'm glad she's not a ghost but..."

Harry kissed the back of his neck. "I know I don't have very good memories of your mum. But I think... when people ask me, about us and me living here, that I'll tell them what she did. She deserves to have the world know she saved my life."

"You don't have to do that." No matter how close he and Harry had become, he knew it remained a depressing fact the absence of his parents made their relationship easier.

"I know. But she's your mum, and you love her. And I love you." Draco turned in Harry's arms and kissed him hard.

_When he says things like that, I really believe that this is going to work._

"I never showed you her letter," Harry said once Draco finally gave him a chance to catch his breath. "Do you want to see it?"

~~~

Most of Harry's possessions had disappeared from the room where he used to sleep. In fact, the front suite had contracted while the room he occupied with Draco had grown even larger. But there was still a small box of assorted papers on the desk, and from within Harry drew out a crumpled letter.

Draco knew what she'd written, as Harry had told him back in Craik, but it was one thing to be aware of it, and quite another to hold the parchment with his mother's own handwriting. The paper was from the stationary set he'd purchased for her in the hospital, and his throat grew tight as he gently took the letter from Harry's hand.

_Mr. Potter,_

_You and I are not friends. And I think you may be tempted to throw away this letter. Remember the last time we saw each other, and reconsider._

_By now my solicitor has informed you of my last request. My son -_

The parchment shimmered, and all the words began to rearrange themselves. "What?" His mother's handwriting resolved itself into an entirely different letter that Draco read in fascination.

_My darling,_

_I assume you have forced Mr. Potter to show you this letter. Do not be too cross with him; I have given him little choice in the matter._

_I have known I was going to leave you since the night your brother was conceived. The ritual your father and I conducted - I will spare you the details. Suffice it to say, it required both our lives: his to undo my barrenness, and mine to imbue this child with vitality and ensure a boy. It grieves me to leave you behind, but this is my duty. I vowed with my very soul to continue the house of Malfoy when I bound myself to the Manor. I will also admit with some shame that I found the prospect of Azkaban to be daunting, and the loss of my magic to be an unbearable outcome. You are young, and will survive this much better than I._

_Do not weep for me, my dragon. I have had a full life, and a happy one for the most part, the last few years notwithstanding. I saw you grow into a man, and a much more capable one than you give yourself credit for. However, I know the Ministry will not allow you to have custody of your brother. I also know that Mr. Potter cares about families, and I am hopeful he will do the right thing. Please try to reach an accord with him in this matter._

_I do not regret dying a Malfoy. To be part of such a legacy, to have experienced the Manor, to have the love I felt for your father and you. And for my new little one. Julian Antares - I_ do _regret not meeting you. All other regrets I must now sweep aside - we are the sum of our choices._

_To that end, I beseech you Draco - choose happiness. You are free from duty and expectations now - only your responsibility to Julian remains. Take that unexpected freedom and live for yourself. And know that my love for you and pride in you continues even in the Beyond._

_~Your Mother_

"How- how did she do this?" Draco stammered through his tears. "Without a wand?" _Did she ask Cora to help her? Draw on Julian's magic within her for one desperate spell?_

Harry leaned over his shoulder, perplexed. "Do what?"

"There's a message for me, that only I can read."

"What does it say?" Draco hesitated, and Harry smiled and shook his head. "No, it's OK. That's for you. I'm glad she got to say goodbye."

"She knew she was going to die." Draco was unsure how to take that information. Yet another burden for Julian to bear when he was older. Harry ran a soothing hand down Draco's arm.

"And she told me we should reach an _accord,_ " Draco said, turning his palm up and allowing their hands to clasp. "I don't think she planned for our truce to be reached quite like this."

Harry laughed nervously "You think she would have disapproved?"

"No. I don't think she would have." Draco looked back down at the letter. "Because she also told me to choose happiness."

Harry moved to bring them closer together. "Are you?"

 _Happiness._ Draco had once sneered at what he saw as the unimaginative goals of his peers. Mid level job, fall in love, raise a family. Common lives for common people. There was no power in simply trying to be happy.

But now? The entire world had changed, and Draco had changed with it. The times he was most content were those spent with Harry and Julian. He'd adapted to an entirely different life than he ever imagined.

He lay one gentle kiss on Harry's lips.

"I choose you."


	9. Epilogue: Transitions in Habits of Life

The gardens were more beautiful this spring than they had ever been. Apple blossoms blew from the trees at the back of the patio and wafted past in the gentle breeze. Draco wasn't sure why they flowered, since there was fruit year round, but he wasn't going to argue with magic.

Julian was splashing in the fountain, energetic after his first visit to Fortescue's reopened ice cream parlour in Diagon Alley. The three of them still drew strange looks sometimes, but Draco was no longer worried to be out in public with Harry, or even on his own.

He still preferred the Manor.

On Julian's second birthday he'd taken his little brother to see the portrait of their parents for the first time. It had been painted when Draco was two years old as well, but he had not been included. There was another portrait, from when Draco was eleven, in the long gallery; Draco didn't choose this one as he felt it would be confusing for Julian to see two of him.

Young Lucius and Narcissa, free from deep emotions as paintings were, were distantly aware that their real life counterparts had passed. But they cooed over Julian, told him what a handsome young man he was, how proud they were to have two sons that were so darling. But they mostly had eyes for each other. Draco remembered his mother telling him this was around the time she had truly fallen in love with Lucius, and he could see that love on her portrait's face.

Now he watched Harry standing in the garden, and considered that he must have the same expression.

"Would you like to be bound someday?"

Harry turned at the sudden question. "What like... get married?"

Harry blanched and Draco laughed. "Not necessarily. It doesn't have to be anything legal. There's always a family binding, to us and the Manor. It doesn't seem like you plan to go anywhere."

"I can't imagine being without you. Just... It's still a bit scary. Blood magic."

"I understand, Harry," he said gently. _No matter how long he lives here he wasn't raised in our traditions, and he'll never be fully drawn to them. And that's alright._

"There's something less intense. More like a promise. Would you like me to show you?"

Draco left Julian with Holkey, and led Harry inside and up the stairs to the top floor of the Manor, then to a room in the West Wing located off the library. Surrounding them on every wall was a painted fresco, white and blue and gold. Fleur de lis's glowed at every corner, paying homage to the French roots of _Malfoi,_ and the names of every Malfoy who'd ever lived were inscribed in silver on blue badges, connected by rippling golden ribbons.

"It's like the tapestry at Grimmauld Place," Harry marvelled.

"Indeed. Look here." Draco pointed to his own name and Julian's, connected by a thread that descended from Lucius and Narcissa.

While Harry followed the ribbons around the room, pausing now and again to remark on one name or another, Draco placed his hands palm-down on a small table near the centre of the room. He closed his eyes and concentrated on feeling the magic of the Manor rise up within him. _This is who I choose. Please allow me to give him this, to make this promise._ He feared the Manor would not acquiesce; although Draco was long past caring that Harry was a man, the fact remained that there was no potential for heirs in their coupling. The Manor seemed best pleased when all within were happy, and had allowed Harry to work with the wards and accommodated their rooms, but it was also concerned with perpetuation.

To Draco's relief, the space between his hands shimmered, and a bowl of clear water appeared.

"Harry." He held the bowl out. "Come with me."

Eyeing the bowl questioningly, Harry made his way back to the most recent names on the tree. "What's that for?"

Wordlessly Draco dipped two fingers into the bowl, and then pressed them beside the badge reading _Draco Lucius Malfoy._ The plaster became wet as if it had been freshly applied.

"Press your thumb here."

Harry hesitated. "Why? Not that I don't trust you. Just, this house still sometimes freaks me out, even if it does seem to like me."

"I want to link you to me," Draco explained. "Normally this would be done at a betrothal. It's a statement of intent." Harry blinked in astonishment, and Draco continued. "I'm not proposing. We're young yet, and I don't need an old-fashioned ritual to bind you to me. I believe in your love." Tears formed in his eyes, but he pressed on. "This is just like a little stamp, a declaration, within the magic of the house that says 'I am his and he is mine.' It doesn't have any real ramifications, magically, although the very fact the Manor provided the water for us means it approves."

Harry's face grew soft, and he silently reached out and cupped Draco's cheek, then turned and pressed his thumb into the wet spot on the fresco. Out of nothing, a new badge appeared, and a name formed in the same sharp calligraphy as the rest:

_Harry James Potter_

The band between them was thick and edged in blue, like that of Draco's parents and grandparents. Married or not, it was obvious what the Manor thought of their relationship.

Another ribbon appeared between Harry and Julian's names, of the same thickness that connected Julian to Draco. "It's a filial band," Draco stated in awe. "The Manor recognises that Julian is your brother, too."

"That's a little strange," Harry laughed wetly, and Draco saw that he also had tears stuck in his dark lashes. "To be his brother and not yours."

"Welcome to the Sacred Twenty-Eight," Draco said wryly. "And our tangled family trees."

"Yeah," Harry whispered, running his finger over the painted bonds. "Family."

~~~

_The Malfoy Heir lives in Malfoy Manor._

_The Manor has stood for hundreds of years and one might assume it has remained unchanged in that time. Look closer: rooms adapt to fit growing families, facades appear brighter when there is happiness within. Even the current Manor is new growth, built upon the roots of houses before it. The line of Malfoy continues as a tree, vital and unceasing, yet its branches are not necessarily unbroken. Trees can be grafted, and bear a variety of fruits. Countless variations of love and duty have blossomed within, and when one branch falters, new shoots arise to take its place. The world around the Manor changes, and the family adapts in response. Do not mistake tradition for stagnation - only one current occupant even bears the name 'Malfoy,' but the wards run strong and true._

_Draco Malfoy is no longer the Malfoy Heir._

_Draco Malfoy occupies a new niche - a brother, a lover, a guardian - and flourishes in the gardens of his ancestral home._

**Author's Note:**

> LowerEastSide: Thank you for coming along on this journey with me. I treasure every comment and kudos give me life. Come visit me on [Tumblr!](https://lower-east-side.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thank you so much to UntilOurApathy for taking on such a long work to beta at the start. Your input from the very beginning was invaluable. Talking me through blocking, pointing out weak bits, offering insightful suggestions, and pulling out the potential in my writing - beta is far too simple a word. This fic would be much less polished and not flow nearly as well without your hard work from the outset. I dare say it would not exist. 
> 
> Another big thank you to Drarryismymuse! It's not easy coming in halfway to a fic where two people have left their fingerprints all over, but you tackled it with aplomb. Talk about turnaround! Your constant encouragement and suggestions really helped me push through and keep momentum going. Finishing this on time would have been nigh impossible without you and your enthusiastic support. 
> 
> Finally, thank you to the mods for running such an intensive festival! BB is a part of history and you've picked up the reins so well. Setup, matching, check-ins, extra editing, promotions? You've gone above and beyond.
> 
> I have more ideas for fic set in this 'verse, as well as a small Lucissa companion piece in the works, so please check back or subscribe to my author feed if you want more!
> 
> The layout of Malfoy Manor is inspired by its movie counterpart, Hardwick Hall. Craik Forest and it’s features such as Byehass Fell are real places in Scotland, although lacking (as far as I know) enchanted apples.
> 
> The quoted works of Darwin are:
> 
> _On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection (1859)_  
>  _The Variation of Animals and Plants Under Domestication (1875)_  
>  _The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals (1872)_  
>  _The Fertilisation of Orchids: on the various contrivances by which British and foreign orchids are fertilised by insects, and on the good effects of intercrossing (1862)_


End file.
